


Things Gone Cold

by nayanroo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, fillin' in those canon gaps, happy to sad to worse, keep an eye on tags for updated warnings, ongoing tag rodeo, tagged and rated for later events, text-based conversations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2018-12-13 03:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayanroo/pseuds/nayanroo
Summary: They fell in love, and it destroyed worlds.  But not before it destroyed them.Before that, though, they were happy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of too many emotions and nowhere to put them after season three. It's part cracky (at first) texts between best bros Alfor and Zarkon, part romance between two people who have _no_ idea what they're doing, and part tragedy. Literally, I have written out space texts between Alfor and Zarkon spanning the time period of this fic, because this is where my life is now.
> 
> Please keep an eye on the tags. We all know how things ended up for Honerva and Zarkon, and I don't plan to skimp on things that hurt when their pride and relentlessness pulls them into a nosedive.

“ _Your heart is warm for things gone cold.”_  
-Sophocles, _Antigone_

 

*

 

**D 06.1725.4**

**T 1042.276 ALT**

Z: Alfor.  
Z: You should have told me of Honerva before summoning her to Daibazaal.

**T 1115.835 ALT**

A: Apologies for the delay, we just landed.  
A: Why? Is she troublesome? She can be very driven in her work, but I have worked with her before and found her to be not only an inspired alchemist, but a lovely woman. I thought she would be a valuable addition to your team of scientists, but of course I would not want to insult their work either.

**T 1117.034 ALT**

Z: She is not troublesome. Not in a way I find displeasing.  
A: ...I see. In that case, I won’t recall her to Altea, but do let me know if anything comes up.  
A: I cannot wait to get this comet into my lab. Just being near it is… it’s like nothing else.

 

*

 

Alfor tucked his tablet back into its pocket, shading his eyes against the light of Altea’s suns as he watched the comet get lowered onto a waiting sled. He’d run some preliminary tests on the ship, just to get an idea of what he might be working with; any comet that was capable of tearing a hole between realities was solidly in the realm of _interesting but highly dangerous_ , and while he’d done some truly appallingly stupid things in his life, dying while in pursuit of the answer to this riddle was not something he wanted to put on the list. His tests had been done to ensure the safety of the people who would be working on it, himself included, but all they’d revealed was that it was made of a material that seemed to contain an unbelievable amount of energy per gram, but wasn’t ultradense, and wasn’t emitting dangerous levels of radiation. Interesting, but not dangerous if managed properly.

“I hope I won’t have to start taking meals in the lab again just to catch a glimpse of my husband.”

He tore his eyes away from where the sled was now moving, escorted by members of his team in protective suits. They’d see it secured in his lab, he thought. His wife always took priority over his work—the agreement after she’d found him asleep on his console half an hour before a diplomatic dinner he was meant to attend—and now he took her hand, kissing it. Naia, Princess of Altea and the love of his life, deserved no less than his full attention anytime she asked for it.

“Don’t worry,” he said, tucking her hand into his arm as they turned and made their way up into the castle itself. “I learned my lesson. If I’m not at meals, you have my permission to get Coran to drag me out of my lab kicking and screaming and change the bio-lock on the door so I can’t go back in.”

“You truly _are_ wise.” Naia gave him a sidelong smile that made his stomach flip, just the same way as it had the first time they’d been introduced. “But this comet… I don’t have your hand for alchemy but I can tell it’s more than it appears. I can… feel it.”

Alfor thought about how the fine hairs on his arms had risen up anytime he’d gotten close, how the pulse and flow of quintessence through his body, honed from hundreds of years of careful practice and use, had responded to the comet by getting _excited_. “Good to know it wasn’t just me,” he said quietly. “Perhaps something about sacred Alteans causes it to respond differently? Coran was with me the whole time while I was taking readings on the ship, and he barely felt a tickle.”

“It’s an angle worth exploring, I believe.” Naia tugged his arm. “But that can wait, can it not?”

She held out her other hand and he took it, still a little dazed that she had accepted his suit all those years ago, never _not_ in awe of her ability to utterly charm him. “It can wait,” he agreed, and followed her.

*

Zarkon stood on the glassed-in catwalk that ringed the crater site, watching as the last equipment for the containment field was lowered down into place. It wouldn’t completely block the radiation they’d detected coming from rift, but the effects around it had been… strange, in the days since the comet had struck, and so this had been designed to, hopefully, mitigate those. He couldn’t have his people suffering constantly from nightmares about drowning in sick yellow light. Alfor had helped design this, so Zarkon completely trusted that it would perform as predicted.

The other hand behind it was standing a few tiers down. With her arms crossed and her cat perched on her shoulders, Honerva paced the observation platform she stood on, occasionally tapping her comm to issue instructions to the crews securing equipment in place. When it was done, she nodded to herself and turned, heading back into the facility that was being constructed around the crater. Quickly, Zarkon summoned his guards and left, taking his fighter back to the palace in Daiba City. Honerva put him on edge, and despite what he’d told Alfor, he didn’t think he could face her just yet. He knew his friend had noticed that he’d spent more of his time away from the crater site than not, that he’d then peppered Alfor with questions over dinner regarding the nature of the comet and the danger that the rift posed to the planet and his people that could have been better answered at the site, but that he had very carefully avoided being in the labs with Honerva and Alfor as they worked to design and build the necessary containment. Unusual, given that Alfor knew that Zarkon had previously taken an interest in projects of his, but his friend had not raised the question and Zarkon had not offered to explain, and that was that.

Except now he was hosting Honerva and a retinue of Altean alchemists and engineers and scientists, and while they were staying out near the crater to be close to their work they had a wing of quarters in the palace they could also use, and custom dictated that he invite them to dinners and functions that their stations would allow them to attend. For now he could put it out of his mind, but what if he could not?

His Vizier, a former general named Jonkor, was waiting for him when he landed and fell into step beside him. Jonkor had served under Zarkon for years, proving his ability on and off the battlefield, so when Zarkon had taken the throne, this had been the first comm he’d made. “Good to see you again, sire,” he said as Zarkon climbed out of his fighter. “I trust that the trip was worthwhile?”

“Containment is being put in place on the rift, and the area is being monitored by both the Alteans and our own people. It’s quite fascinating, really; a prodigious amount of power is being generated in the area, and Alfor reports that the comet is exhibiting similar properties.”

“Perhaps there will be a way to harness it. We could use the extra boost to our fleets."

“I’ll see if the alchemists have any theories. Any other news from the Empire?”

This was good, Zarkon thought as they walked through the corridors up to his offices. This, he could handle. The way that the universe had stopped turning the moment he’d laid eyes on Honerva was an outlying point. This business of managing his empire was what he had been born to do, what he’d _fought_ to do. All else was… extraneous.

Still, when his official comm buzzed later in the day cycle and Honerva’s image appeared on his desk displays, he could not help but feel buoyed just by looking upon her. “Emperor Zarkon,” she said. “I’m happy to report that containment is holding, the stasis field appears to be working as expected, and we’re still receiving data from the rift across all channels. The countermeasures appear to be working, but of course we’ll know more in the coming days if the psychic effects have lessened as well.”

“Excellent work. As I said, if there’s anything you or your team require, do not hesitate to ask me.”

“We’ve been well-supplied by King Alfor so we should be all right for now. I wouldn’t want our team to be a burden to your people.”

“You aren’t a burden, Honerva.” Had that come out in the right tone of voice? He couldn’t be sure, so he hastened to salvage it. “I, ah, am just as invested in this work as any of you, I assure you. Supplying your team as needed would be my honor to do.”

“Are you certain?”

Were it anyone else, questioning him that way would have rankled—when one’s Emperor offered something, it was implicit that he _meant_ to, of course—but instead Zarkon just shook his head. “Quite so. This rift has the potential to affect my people drastically, and I would see you have everything you need to do your work.”

Honerva smiled, and some something that had slumbered inside him now stirred in response. “Glad to hear it. Please don’t hesitate to come visit us, either. I think we’ll have some very exciting results very soon.”

“It would be my pleasure. And should you ever want to see the palace, or Daiba City, or the rest of the planet, I will see to it personally.”

“That’d be wonderful. Good night, and thank you once more for your hospitality.”

The feed shut off, replaced briefly by the glowing purple sigil of the Empire before Zarkon shut down the displays completely, leaning back in his chair. He wanted to analyze every aspect of the conversation, from the way she’d smiled to his own reaction when her face had appeared on the comm feed. It was highly irregular, all of this, and if Alfor hadn’t vouched for her personally Zarkon might have suspected that Honerva was some sort of witch sent to ensnare him and take control of his Empire.

He _knew_ that wasn’t what it was, of course. But facing the reality was far more terrifying to him. And yet…

“Sire? Dinner is being served.”

“I’ll be there momentarily.” Zarkon stood and for a moment, looked out the windows in the direction of the crater. He couldn’t _see_ the installation, of course, but a strange glow seemed to linger on the horizon there, between Daiba City and the dropoff into space. Honerva was there, in that glowing smudge.

He would manage this, he thought, powering down his desk station for the night cycle. It was a passing fancy, nothing more, an attraction borne of novelty. Honerva would eventually conclude her studies, and they would go their separate ways, and things would go back to normal.

*

**D 06.1725.7**

**T 1103.497 ALT**

A: [file sent_dataset20spectral]  
A: I’ve never seen readings like these before. The potential energy contained in this comet is phenomenal! I’ll have to remember to be cautious or I’ll blow up the whole planet running experiments.

**T 1348.220 ALT**

A: [link sent_klanmurlwav]  
A: look at this mürl  
Z: These four messages perfectly encapsulate you.

**T 1354.567 ALT**

Z: I’ve just glanced through the data—it does look unusual. Similar to the kinds of readings Honerva is seeing at the rift. Same manner of radiation.  
A: Perhaps the comet is material expelled from this other reality.  
Z: How are things proceeding on Altea? If these are some of your results the work must be very promising indeed.  
A: I need time to look over all of what we’ve done in the past few days. Naia has put her “no food in the lab” rule in effect again, to guarantee that I don’t repeat what happened with the experiments we did a few years ago.  
Z: She’s a clever woman, your wife.  
A: That she is.

*

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Honerva said, leading Zarkon through the corridors of the ever-growing crater installation. “I’m sure it’s difficult to take time out of your schedule.”

“Not at all, not for you… and your team.” Zarkon held his breath, keeping his expression neutral when Honerva glanced back at him.

“Right,” she said, leading him into one of the big labs that overlooked the rift. “I’d like to show you what I’ve determined about the rift. We knew it was a gateway between realities, but when I paired the readings we’d been getting with Alfor’s data from his studies of the comet, I found out other things...”

Later, Zarkon would be hard-pressed to remember what she’d said, but he remembered how animated she was, moving from one display to the next with purpose, remembered how her voice would rise and fall in excitement as she explained something, superimposed graphs on each other. His friends had always talked about how wonderful it was to see people they cared about excited about something, but Zarkon had thought it a little foolish. Now that he’d experienced it himself, though…

Some of her words took root suddenly, dragged him from watching how her hands moved in the air. “Wait,” he said, raising a hand. “You think that the comet ore is… what?”

“Solid quintessence. Or at least, ore infused with so much quintessence it might as well be that alone.” Honerva pulled a display over from another console, putting it up on the window next to him and crowding in close ( _too close, too wonderfully close_ ) to drag other readouts in. “Or at least, something close to it. That would explain the incredible energy it seems to contain without the additional mass that would usually be required.”

Zarkon leaned in. He wasn’t an alchemist like Honerva or Alfor, but he had learned the theory and had picked up things here and there from listening to Alfor ramble about whatever he was working on at the time. “This shouldn’t be possible. Quintessence has never been solid, only liquid.”

“That’s what _we_ thought, because there was never enough cohesiveness between molecules to maintain cohesion and form a stable structure, but!” Honerva ducked under his arm, pulling him over to another display (and his wrist burned when she let go of it, her touch electric even through his armor) and another set of readouts. “When Alfor sent me the latest information from his studies of the comet, it looked familiar, so I went through our own readings, and…”

“They’re the same.”

She grinned, pleased that he’d seen it too. “Just so. Which led us to believe that between our reality and the one on the other side is pure quintessence.”

“So… but how did the comet simply crashing into Daibazaal’s surface open the rift? Does this lurk beneath the surface of all planets?”

“I’m not sure. It may have something to do with the specific location, or it may simply be an accident. But I’d like to,” and here Honerva’s voice became different somehow, “Stay, and look into it. I’ve already gotten approval from Prince Alfor to do so, but as Daibazaal is your planet…”

She was looking at him a bit uncertainly as though afraid he’d refuse, and part of Zarkon wanted to tell her he’d like nothing more than to keep her here forever. But instead he nodded, hoping that his attempt to keep his expression composed was working. “Of course you can stay. I wouldn’t want to interrupt a mind such as yours before it’s had a chance to truly find all the secrets this rift has to offer. You and your team are welcome as long as you have work to do.”

Honerva’s smile was brighter than the gleam from the rift itself, and her hands fluttered as though reaching out to him, pulling back at the last moment, instead clasping in front of her chest. “Wonderful! I admit, I was afraid you would refuse, but this is far better. I’ll draw up a proposal so you have something to refer to, in terms of supplies and length of stay.”

“That’s unnecessary. All _you_ have to do to get what you need is ask.”

“Good. I had… been under the impression that I’d done something to offend. I admit that I’m not always the most observant person when it comes to social niceties.” Her smile became a little self-deprecating. “Too much time bent over beakers and computers, not enough time spent with other _people_.”

“I—no, you haven’t done anything to offend me. Quite the opposite.”

Honerva raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Warning bells rang faintly in the back of his mind, trying to tell him that he was treading dangerously close to things he wanted to avoid, but Honerva was looking at him with interest, and that was what was at the forefront of Zarkon’s mind. “No. What made you think so?”

“Well, you _did_ leave three ticks after meeting me, and you’ve barely been here since. At first I thought it a lack of interest, but you’ve asked such probing questions when I’ve commed with updates I knew _that_ to be false, so I thought it must have something to do with me. I know I am not… what is expected, of Alteans. But I’ll not change who I am to be more _acceptable_.”

“Nor would I want you to do so. If the universe does not take you as you are, change the universe.” Zarkon bowed his head to her. “I’m afraid I’ve been remiss in checking in here as I should be doing. Be assured it’s nothing you did, and you have my apologies for leaving you with that impression.”

“In that case, I won’t worry further on it—Kova, _get off the console_. You know you’re not allowed.” Her cat back in her arms, Honerva turned to face him again. “But please, come more often. Every day we seem to find out something new, it seems, so…”

“More often is better.”

“As long as it’s not an imposition on your time, Your Majesty. Running an empire is, I’m told, exhausting work.”

As his fighter rose into the air, Zarkon could see her on the ground outside the entrance to the crater installation. She was looking up at him, Kova perched on her shoulders. As though she knew he was looking, she raised a hand. The expression on her face was strange, a mix of relief and wistfulness, and it tugged at that thing inside him, that strange beast, made it wake fully.

_Oh,_ he thought, as his head filled with visions of Honerva standing at his side at the head of the Empire, of seeing to it personally that she was able to work on whatever she pleased so long as she was happy and he was with her.

_Oh, quiznak._

*

**D 06.1725.21**

**T 0134.034 ALT**

Z: Alfor, this is an emergency. I require information you know, because otherwise I think I might go mad.  
A: What is it? What’s going on? I checked with our monitoring stations and Daibazaal doesn’t seem to be under attack.  
Z: It is not. Alfor, I must know something.  
A: Of course, old friend. Anything.

**T 0141.057 ALT**

A: Hello?  
Z: I must ask your advice in the art of courtship.  
A: Zarkon, it’s past midnight.

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well y'all seemed to like it so here we go with the second chapter!

There were days that this frightened him.

Alfor watched the dials carefully on the fabrication apparatus, a hand covering his mouth. The ore had been melted down, alloyed with metals that were flexible and strong, and was now being shaped into the planes and parts that would make up the ships he’d envisioned. The ships that had come to him in a dream, from hastily-scribbled notes made in the middle of the night. That part wasn’t terrible; inspiration struck at odd hours. What had been odd was that it… felt like it was coming from _outside_ his mind, and when he’d been working on the designs in the lab, there were times he’d look back over his work and not remember making modifications, find design elements he hadn’t intended to put in.

When he’d begun slicing the comet apart, breaking it down into chunks better suited for the fabrication process, he’d found that it seemed to _want_ to fall apart, but only into the precise sections needed. It was like it knew what he wanted. He couldn’t explain it, not even with the growing body of work coming from Honerva’s installation in the crater, but it was almost as though the comet could read him.

“Your Highness?”

Alfor turned from where he was watching as another section of silvery metal was removed from the fabricator and carried off to where it would be stored until assembly. “What is it, Coran?”

“Her Highness would like to know if you’re coming to dinner.”

“It’s not for hours yet.”

“...it’s evening, Prince Alfor.”

He glanced at the chrono on his table and felt a shock go through him. He’d been standing, rooted to this spot, for _hours_ without noticing the passage of time. His legs cramped as soon as he tried to move, and he paused, stretching carefully. “Please tell her that I’ll be along shortly. No need to apologize for me, I’ll do so myself.”

“Understood, Your Highness.”

Alfor stretched further after Coran left, all the while listening to the whirr and clank of the fabricators, smelling the acrid tang of hot metal. Somehow, he’d lost time, and that was more disturbing than the comet seeming to anticipate his needs.

As this idea had taken shape, this plan for five ships, a pressure had been growing in Alfor’s mind. It was a presence, a being that had previously been sleeping but was now beginning to wake up.

He wondered what would happen when it was finished, free in the world. He wondered if he was doing the right thing.

*

The engines of his fighter were still spooling down when Zarkon leaped out of the cockpit, boots crunching on the gravel as he crossed the field and took the lift down to the main levels of the installation. He’d waited a few days for this, partly to collect his nerves, and partly to collect the gift that he’d tucked into a pocket on his belt.

_You cannot approach this as you would a battle, my friend_ , Alfor had told him. _This matter requires a much more delicate touch_. So after some further questioning ( _Take an interest in her work and make an effort to understand and talk with her_ and _Find something she might like and gift it to her_ being things that stood out) he had collected the gift he’d settled on for her and set off back to the crater.

The Altean researcher leading him peeled off once inside the main ring after gesturing vaguely and saying that he’d last seen Honerva _down that way_ , but it didn’t take much to find her. Rather than standing at a console monitoring some experiment, she was perched on a stool, glaring at a set of data that clearly wasn’t responding the way she wanted to. Kova was curled up in her lap asleep, but he raised his head as Zarkon approached, tail swishing through the air. Honerva looked up, stretching and stepping down off her stool when she realized who it was. Kova took the stool, sitting beside her and fixing Zarkon with what he imagined was a very unimpressed stare.

“You’re back,” Honerva said. She sounded a little surprised—but not displeased, he noted. Rather, her lips were curved up in a smile, and she leaned over to tap a few keys and pause her program.

“I did say I would be checking in more often.”

“Well, good. I’m glad to see you, Your Majesty.”

“I—well, good.” After a slightly-too-long moment of silence, he gestured at the program she’d been running before he’d come in. “What were you working on?”

“Oh, it’s… I’m trying to answer the question raised last time you were here, about whether or not the comet would have ripped a hole in reality had it crashed at any point on Daibazaal or this one specifically. But because we don’t have a full understanding of the way this works—the math’s just beyond what we know now—none of it’s working out properly. So now I’m just… trying different iterations of the problem. Hopefully one gives me the answer.”

Zarkon saw his chance, and quickly pulled out the item he’d brought along, holding it out to her. “Perhaps this will help. I’m sure you have a basic understanding of Daibazaal, but I had one of the archivists compile a series of treatises on the planet and its properties and unique features. The answer might lie within.” He watched as she plucked the datachip from his hand, holding it in hers like a precious gem rather than a common bit of plastic and metal. “It is a small thing, but—“

“It’s perfect,” Honerva said, closing her fingers around the datachip. “It really is, Your Majesty. Even if the answer isn’t revealed, the knowledge might offer a clue or a starting point or _something_. It’s… an incredibly thoughtful gift. Thank you.”

“And should you want to come to the palace, you need not even ask. To see the archives, of course. They’re quite extensive.”

She stared at him, and Zarkon wondered if she could see right through him, if she knew his heart and the shape of it just by looking. “So long as I have someone who knows them well to guide me,” she replied at last, her smile aimed right at him, and it was like standing in the light of the suns. He would do _anything_ to keep that warmth aimed right at him.

“Oh, yes, of course. Our master archivist would be pleased to do so.”

When Honerva’s expression fell a bit, he realized that the _correct_ answer would have been to say that of course, he would be happy to do it himself, that he’d love nothing more than to spend a day showing her the extensive archives of the Galra Empire that had been assembled and curated over thousands of years. But she seemed to perk back up, putting the datachip safely inside a case and shutting down her console.

They spent the rest of the day cycle walking the crater installation, endless loops as they talked about the progress of the research that was already hinting at deeper secrets and greater knowledge of their own universe. Between his own knowledge and Honerva’s easy, conversational way of explaining things, by the time they’d completed a final loop and arrived back at her console (with Kova still on the stool, but curled up asleep), he was less uncomfortable in her presence and more fascinated by the way her mind worked.

“How do you think of this?” he asked, watching her scoop her cat up and settle him on her shoulders, tail draped along her collarbone like a fur stole. “How do all these theories just… come to you?”

Honerva shrugged, leaning against her console. “I see the world in a different way than most people. How do you know how to command a fleet, win a battle?”

“I’ve trained extensively.”

“The same is true of alchemists. You train your body, your soldiers, your ship crews. We train our minds.”

“We each have our area of expertise.”

“These two aren’t mutually exclusive – we both take risks in pursuit of our goals, we both have to think creatively to solve a problem. Though I admit,” and here she ducked her head, smiling a little as she ran a hand over Kova’s tail, “I’m much more confident here in a lab rather than on a field of battle.”

“Ah, but in a pitched fight, one must be able to think as quickly as you do, for being too slow to make a choice might mean death. But were our positions suddenly reversed I doubt I could do your work half as well as you do.”

“And I would be utterly hopeless on a throne. This,” she gestured to her console, “Is where I’m happiest. My own kind of empire.

He decided to try and salvage his earlier blunder. “Then I hope you’ll not be too uncomfortable if I personally invite you to Daiba City, to the palace archives.”

“Surely your archivist has better things to do.”

“I can see no more pressing business than sharing knowledge of my people with someone eager to learn. And it could be you’d find more information to help you in your quest—something I cannot entrust to any mere archivist. It would be my _personal_ honor to show you.”

When Honerva lit up, Zarkon knew he’d gotten it right this time. “In that case,” she said. “I’d be honored for the Emperor of the Galra himself to show me what his people have learned. I think I can leave my work behind for a day, though, and just focus on what the collected knowledge of your empire has to offer. It wouldn’t be good for my attention to be divided, yes?”

“No, it wouldn’t be good. I was going to extend an invitation to the rest of your team for dinner a few days from now—come ahead of the others that day, in the morning.” He’d had other matters to attend to, but all of them seemed unimportant now in the face of spending most of the day with Honerva, alone (as alone as they’d get, anyway). In any case, the Empire waited on _him_.

“I look forward to it,” she said, and her smile was still bright, but something else had grown in it too, her lips tilted in a way that they hadn’t been before. The beast inside his chest purred, pleased. “Until then, my lord.”

“Until then.”

*

**D 06.1275.21  
** **T 2301.345 ALT**  


A: Well? How did it go?

**T 2308.562 ALT**

Z: She is coming to see the archives in a few days’ time.  
Z: And the datacard made an excellent gift, it seems.  
A: That’s wonderful news! An excellent start, my friend.  
Z: Alfor, I know very little about the archives and their contents.  
A: You have a few days.  Perhaps make a study of it?  
A: I don’t believe she’s going just to see the archives, though.

**T 2309.982 ALT**

Z: It will be good to see her outside of the crater installation. But speaking of work, how fares your shipbuilding?  
A: Slow going, I’m afraid. I had tried to make changes to the initial design, but the material is being… difficult.  
Z: The material?  
A: Yes, it’s as though it has a very clear picture of what it ought to be, and my modifications displeased it. We’ve run into some snags here.  
A: I realize that sounds impossible, but… I hope to have something soon. I’ll keep you informed of my endeavors, if _you_ promise to keep us informed of how things fare with you and Honerva.  
Z: ...us?  
  
*  
  
The small Altean pod looped once around the landing pad before coming in, firing its repulsors once before settling. Alone save for his guard drones, Zarkon watched as the black cockpit dome became crisscrossed with hexagonal blue lines and clasped his hands at the small of his back. Shoulders back, spine straight, and then Honerva was hopping out of the pilot’s seat with her hair gleaming silver-gray in the light and an exhilarated flush on her cheeks (nearly the same shade as her markings) when she looked at him, and the world shifted just slightly under his feet.  
  
“I haven’t been out of the crater nearly enough,” she said as she walked up, pushing her bangs out of her eyes and slinging a pack over her shoulder. “This planet is _amazing_ from the air!”  
  
He couldn’t stop a pleased smile from spreading across his face. Over the course of the last few days he’d received countless messages from his _supposed_ allies, each one of them offering more and more ludicrous advice for this first outing until finally he’d had to tell them all to jump into separate black holes and stop bothering him. “Daibazaal has many wonders,” Zarkon said, gesturing that they should both go inside. It was a bright and blustery day, the winds howling down from the pole as they always did. Inside they were insulated from the chill and the sound of the wind. “I’ll show them to you, if you like.”  
  
“That’s a generous offer.”  
  
“I can be generous.”  
  
“Can you, now,” Honerva murmured. The timbre of her voice in that moment was… distracting. Zarkon cleared his throat.  
  
“It depends on the audience. Your pack--?”  
  
“Oh—a change of clothes, for the dinner later.”  
  
He had a servant take it for her, and they proceeded through the palace, headed vaguely in the direction of the archives. It was a lot like their talk a few days ago, but rather than her research on the rift and where she wanted to go and what she thought some discovery might mean, the conversation was more personal; Honerva talked of what had set her on the path of an alchemist in the first place, what she liked about the logical approach to the study of quintessence and its interactions with the universe, rather than the more mystical studies carried out by sacred Alteans and others who could actually _use_ quintessence in a significant way. She asked about him, too, about his brothers, about how it was he’d come to be Emperor and what that meant and what he wanted for the future, for his people.   
  
And she asked about the few sculptures around the palace—the Galra weren’t often inclined to art, and the sculptures were all clean lines and shapes flowing one into the next. “It’s nothing like what you find on Altea,” he said.  
  
“If it were the same, it’d be boring,” Honerva replied. Her eyes followed the curves of a fountain up to its point. “I don’t know much of art, but it reflects your people, doesn’t it? Altea is all… grand, soaring things. This is not something I see there.”  
  
She turned and brushed past him—unnecessarily, the short passageway between this sheltered courtyard and the main hallway had been wide enough for them to walk abreast earlier—and went back inside. Zarkon wondered what would be whispered later, when word got around that the Emperor had trailed behind an Altean alchemist like a Oolruc cub, half-enthralled by a simple brush of arms and the flash of an eye through lashes. He’d put a stop to it, of course, but the fact that it didn’t irritate him as much as it would have otherwise said much.  
  
_Hopeless_ , Blaytz had written teasingly. _Never thought I’d see it, except in nightmares._   
  
They reached the archives at long last, and with the drones back by the entrance and all the archivists cleared out for the duration, Zarkon was unobserved and free to smile a little as Honerva stood in the center of an intersection of four halls, floor-to-ceiling datacards detailing every scrap of knowledge accumulated by his Empire in its thousands of years of existence cataloged and arranged and available for anyone to access. Amid gray stone and vivid purple accents, Honerva in her white and green almost _glowed_.  
  
“It’s _huge_ ,” she breathed. “You said it contains all the knowledge of the Galra?”  
  
“Anything our people have encountered since we acquired spaceflight is in here, and more than a little from other planets and systems as well.” When faced with Galra fleets, it was always best to hand over what they asked for. “If you want to know, I can show you where I got most of what’s on your datachip.”  
  
“Good, because I’ve got a list of references to delve into.”  
  
“Did you read all that information already?”  
  
“I _devoured_ it.”  
  
“In that case, anytime you like, you can come take what you need from here. I would never stand in the way of your research, not when it promises so much.”  
  
He expected Honerva to take some of the scientific texts, but the histories were a bit surprising to him—though given how fascinated she’d been earlier, Zarkon supposed that it shouldn’t have been. And if her interests kept her coming back, he wasn’t about to complain.  
  
“I think my tutors would have sacrificed their arms for a student like you,” he told her. “You actually _wish_ to be here.”

“Sometimes, when you think differently than others, it’s difficult for those others to see you as anything more than their perception of you.” Honerva looked down at the datacards in her hands, fanned them out then slipped them carefully into a case. “I found more company in these than I did in others. Less tiring than people.” She seemed to hold her breath a little, considering her words as she looked up at him and said, “You don’t exhaust me, though.”

It felt like a confession of some sort, and Zarkon had to consider his next words very carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was go to Alfor and the others and try to explain how, precisely, he’d made a mess of things. “That pleases me to know,” he said. “You have… a unique mind. One I would like to know more of.”

Honerva’s smile seemed to him to be more private, have more of that strange quality from before that made Zarkon want to lean in and take it and keep it for himself. _What power you have_ , he thought.

“Then I _will_ have to come here more often,” she said. “Now, why don’t you show me where you might keep information on your ships’ engines? I have an idea for improving efficiency for you, if Alfor’s got any of that ore left...”

The tension that had thrummed just under his skin for those few minutes had ebbed, but he thought that the rest of the afternoon Honerva stood closer to him than she needed to, that she reached in front of him in ways that brought them into contact. Just briefly, but that was all he needed.

At last one of his lieutenants came to remind him that dinner would be laid soon, that the other Alteans had commed that they’d left the crater installation and were on their way up to the city, and it was with some regret that he watched Honerva—with no less reluctance—slide one last datacard into her case and fall into step beside him. Bold—most wouldn’t have let themselves walk as an equal with the ruler of the planet they were on—but she was bold, and it felt right to have her at his side at all times.

“I’ll have someone show you to a room so you can change,” Zarkon told her. “I have a few things I must see to before I can join you, so...”

“I’m sure I can manage.”

Zarkon paused, watching her be led away by the lieutenant. She looked back once, a hand tucking her hair behind her ear, and gave him a small smile. Then she rounded a corner, time and reality snapped back into place, and he turned away.

*

Galra bedrooms were like all the rest of their architecture; angles and vibrant violet lighting, ceilings hidden in shadow. Compared to the severe décor, her Altean dress looked rather out of place. It wasn’t fancy, simple and body-skimming and a shade of pale green, but as Honerva examined herself in the section of wall that had become reflective, she thought that hopefully it would be suitable for tonight. She hadn’t exactly packed for formal occasions—preferred to wiggle out of them as much as possible, honestly—but she… she didn’t want to skip this one.

That thought alone brought her a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. Honerva had seen Zarkon before, at Alfor’s wedding, but only from afar. He’d been up front with the other heads of state, and though Alfor had offered her a place there, she’d declined and sat in the back with other guests of lesser title. She didn’t belong in the company of emperors and kings, no matter how much her friend insisted she did, and she’d only been to the reception afterward for a little while and not anywhere near the tables for honored guests. Her memories of Zarkon being announced at the wedding were indistinct and brief, and certainly she hadn’t felt the kind of draw toward him that she did now.

_Do you think I’ve done something to offend him?_ she’d asked Alfor, when they’d been standing at their screens watching initial sensor data roll in. She’d known the real reason deep in her gut, of course, but…

Alfor had laughed. _I don’t think so, Honerva,_ he’d replied, leaning on the console. _I think he’s just experienced a deep shock to his system and needs time to recover._

She pulled her hair out of its bun, fussed with it, then huffed and put it back up. It was just a dinner, they were just acquaintances. She wouldn’t let herself get carried away.

When Honerva was led downstairs, she found the other Altean researchers milling about the hall. A servant handed her a drink, which she ended up needing while the members of her team saw fit to cheerfully imply she had come here purely to chase a crown.

“Not that we’re begrudging you,” her second, a young man named Matras, said with a grin. “Emperor Zarkon would have to be blind and stupid not to at least look twice.”

“It’s _not_ like that.”

“So he just invited you to the palace, by yourself, for the _entire day,_ _just_ to show you the library?”

Honerva had to admit that as far as attempts to impress her went, the archives had been a good place to start. The amount of knowledge contained there was prodigious, and she could easily spend entire decaphebes going through it, but she hadn’t missed the way the Emperor had looked at her—pleasure at having shown her something she liked, longing for _more—_ and she hadn’t stopped herself from responding, because it felt good to be _wanted_.

“Nothing improper happened,” she said firmly. “Emperor Zarkon simply recognized something I might be interested in and invited me. It was exceedingly generous of him and I won’t have you insinuating things, so _behave_.”

More of the Galra guests had arrived by that point, and her researchers broke off in twos and threes to talk to them. The Galra were more martial than Altea, but they had their share of great minds, and Honerva was deep in a conversation with one of them about multiverse theory and the possibility of travel between realities when he went stiff and bowed suddenly, and she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“I see you’ve met one of our own eminent alchemists, recently returned from an expedition out to investigate a newly-discovered Balmera,” Zarkon said. His hand slid off her shoulder, trailing a little. Honerva suppressed a shiver. “Marmora, I believe you wanted to study the rift yourself?”

“It would be my honor if I were allowed to join the team, my lady,” Marmora told her.

“I’d appreciate your expertise,” she replied. “But I’m not a lady. Just Honerva is fine, especially if we’ll be working together.”

“Of course.”

He bowed again, though, his eyes darting from her to his emperor, and Honerva sighed as she watched him weave back into the crowd. “I hope he loosens up a little before he gets out to the crater,” she murmured into her cup.

“Marmora takes his work very seriously. Perhaps a little _too_ seriously.” Zarkon shifted so they were facing each other, and her whole body felt curiously warm, skin prickling. “I apologize for having to leave earlier. I couldn’t completely set aside the Empire for a day, unfortunately, but I hope the interruption wasn’t unpleasant.”

“No, no, I didn’t mind at all. It’s not my place to dictate the schedule of an emperor. I needed to change. No, it was fine.” She realized she was babbling and quickly took a sip of her drink. _Get yourself together, Honerva._

“You, ah, do look very nice.” He coughed. “Not that you don’t usually.”

“Thank you?”

They stood there in silence for a few moments; Honerva sipped her drink and wracked her brain for things to say, Zarkon shifted his weight back and forth a few times, and it seemed they both got the nerve to speak at the same time because as soon as she opened her mouth, he did too.

“Well, I had better see to the—“

“I think I’ll go see how the rest of my—“

They both froze. The whole thing was so absurd, though, that Honerva took one look at Zarkon’s expression and snorted, the noise turning into giggles. She could hear him start up too, a low and pleasant rumble that made the warmth over her skin flare and spread.

“I’m going to go see how the rest of my team is doing,” she said at last. “Enjoy the rest of the night, Your Majesty.”

For her part, the dinner and the conversation after that was easier, perhaps because her heart wasn’t pounding for every second of it… but sometimes she’d find her gaze tracking to where Zarkon was speaking to some of the other Alteans, or she’d turn and their eyes would meet. The tension never really ebbed away, just dropped to a level where she could manage it and her expectations.

_He’s a head of state,_ she thought, setting her last drink down on a passing tray and heading over to make her (polite, proper) goodbyes. _What could an alchemist—someone not even from his own planet, his own people—have to offer an emperor?_

“Honerva,” Zarkon said, immediately dismissing the Galra generals he’d been talking to and turning his full attention to her. “I hope the night’s been to your liking.”

“It’s been great.” She folded her hands in front of her to keep them from nervously smoothing down the front of her dress. “I have to get back to the crater, though. It’s quite late.”

“So it is.” He opened his mouth, closed it again. “It pleases me that you enjoyed this. And your fellow Alteans were very well-behaved.”

“I think they’re planning some greater mischief. I don’t want to trouble you or your servants, but I’m not sure I could find my way back to where I put my things...”

“I’ll have someone show you.” He made a quick hand gesture and as if by magic, a servant appeared at his side, bowing to both of them. “And I’ll escort you back to your pod myself.”

“Oh, no, that’s not—“

“I insist.”

Honerva sighed, but she couldn’t help her smile. “If you insist, then.”

She changed quickly, tucking her dress and the bag of precious datacards into her pack, the words _get a grip_ on loop in her mind, a loop completely shattered when she reemerged and instead of the silent Galra servant who had led her here, she found Zarkon. Once more they walked in silence, their footsteps loud in the silent hallway.

“Thank you again,” she said at last, when she began to recognize statues from earlier in the morning. “For showing me around, and for letting me borrow the datacards. I read up on Daibazaal on the way from Altea, but it’ll be fascinating to read about it from the perspective of its own people.”

“Of course. It pleases me that you would learn about my people, and it pleases me more to show you my hospitality.” He drew in a breath. “Should you want to return…?”

“I will,” Honerva said, before she could think about it. Her heart was pounding again, something about the way their hands kept bumping as they walked, about the thought that if she but reached out a little, she might well find his hand reaching out for her. “I’ve got to return these datacards, after all. And get more. _And_ you said you’d show me your planet.”

“Right.” He put his hand on her back to guide her toward the entrance to the landing pad her pod rested on, and when he took it away the spot _burned_. “I’ve a few places in mind.”

“Great.” She climbed up, depositing her pack on the passenger seat, then dropped back down. The winds were constant, the pressure differential between pole and the drop-off into space creating the strange weather patterns. But Honerva only heard a sort of buzzing in her ears; Zarkon was holding a hand out to her, and she reached out to grasp it. Her hand was small in comparison, but Zarkon’s grip was gentle.

“Safe flight, Honerva,” he said. She tightened her fingers on his, then released, pulling away reluctantly.

“I’ll let you know when I get in.”

The wind shear was tricky to lift off in, but Honerva gripped the controls firmly for a second, looking down at Zarkon standing on the landing pad. He raised a hand in farewell, and though she knew he couldn’t see it through the cockpit, she pressed her palm to the glass. Then she flipped her wings and took off back to the crater, the tailwind speeding her along.

When she was safely away from the wind patterns around the palace, Honerva leaned her head back against the seat, squeezing her eyes shut.

“What are you _doing_ ,” she groaned.

*

**D 06.1275.25  
** **T 0634.023 ALT**

Z: Alfor  
A: I’m here.  
Z: She’s _perfect_.  
A: Things went well, I take it.  
Z: Things… yes. I would say they went well. I believe they did. She wants to come back.  
Z: She took my hand, Alfor. She put her hand in mine and I held it and not even the polar winds could take the warmth of it from me.  
A: A very good sign, then!  
Z: I wish for your confidence.  
Z: Or your knowledge of how to proceed.

**T 0642.455 ALT**

A: Don’t be angry, but…  
Z: I thought we agreed it was a bad idea to let the others get involved!  
A: It probably is a bad idea, but listen, they had some good suggestions.  
Z: And yet you’re the only one who’s married.  
A: My marriage was practically _arranged_.  
Z: You still had to court her.  
A: Shouldn’t you be getting some sleep? I think you should go to sleep. We’ll talk when it’s your morning.  
Z: Alfor, stop dodging the question and _help me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on my [tumblr](teslatricity.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos or commented! I'm always looking for that sweet sweet Validation to fuel me through my real life trials.

_It was awake, and it_ knew _._

_It had felt the disturbance some time ago, but only now had it found its way to the source, the gash of light pouring in to its world of dark and slithering things. Now it hovered at the edge of the light, wanting to push through, not wanting to brave the_ lightheatlife _of that which lay between. Not yet, when it was uncertain what lay beyond._

_In time, it sensed others of its kind coming to this latest fissure, drawn to the light and yet wary of it. Many times their kind had crossed, only to be destroyed in hostile otherworlds far from home. But the thing that kept it coming back were the successes, the worlds that had dimmed and darkened and merged with their own. All it took was one mind, one bridge, one way in._

_There was one close. Not ready – not yet – but one day, one day soon. The darkness was patient, and it could wait as long as it took for the bridge to be complete._

*

“... _kon? Zarkon, are you listening?_ ”

He suppressed a jolt—there were actual guards in here, not sentry drones, and though they were on the other side of the privacy field they would have easily been able to see the lapse in attention—and waved a hand to reactivate his voice pickup. “I am. Go ahead, Trigel.”

He hoped his expression communicated that he really didn’t need to be poked fun at right now; thankfully she seemed able to take the hint, only her eyes twinkling as she said, “ _Is your ship in position? We’re about ready to leave here, and as per usual, it’s rather messy_.”

“As per usual,” he echoed, rising and deactivating the privacy field. He’d been antsy for this mission—unable to _actually_ show his face planetside, as the Ulippans had a very tenuous relationship with the Empire to begin with and if he’d arrived it would have been seen as an act of war and _that_ would have been a mess he didn’t want to spend time cleaning up. But while the others had been gallivanting around, carrying out a plan to clear pirates out of an entrenched canyon position, Zarkon had maintained a ship out beyond the reach of any sensors – their getaway vehicle. His guard followed him into his private lift, and ten ticks later he stepped onto the bridge of his flagship.

“Waiting for your signal, Trigel,” he said. Two clicks came over the comm—acknowledgment, but Trigel couldn’t speak. Zarkon took his place behind the helmsman who came to attention.

“Awaiting orders, sire.”

“Hold.”

The bridge was quiet, and he welcomed it, found it helped him focus. The comm channel on the holodisplay that had appeared as soon as he’d stepped onto his dais on the bridge crackled softly; on another display, a scan of the occupied caverns showed the approximate locations of his friends. They were all heading – slowly – back to the exit, to their drop ship. Most of the indicators marking other biosigns in the caverns (the pirates, presumably) had either disappeared or been neutralized in some way, stationary in rooms and corridors where they’d dropped.

All except a group of four, making their way down a tunnel that would intersect with the exit route.

Zarkon reached for the comm display. “Trigel, Alfor,” he said. “There’s a group of hostiles coming toward you down a side tunnel. Be advised that—“

The comm suddenly exploded with the sounds of shouting and weaponsfire, and Zarkon shouted “ _Move!_ ” at the helm. To his credit the helmsman leaped into action, and though his flagship was the biggest in the fleet it was moving at a great clip out of cover, vectoring toward Ulippo on a course set to intercept with that of his friends’ ship. If they made it out, of course, and Zarkon’s mind was already spinning contingencies, working out what to do and how many troops to send down for backup and whether or not it would be worth the political fallout for him to appear personally—

“ _We’re out!_ ” Alfor shouted over the comm, at the same time the helmsman throttled back so they wouldn’t overshoot their intercept. “ _ETA thirty ticks!_ ”

“Ready tether!” Zarkon shouted. Across the bridge, an officer spun to face her console, her hands poised over the controls.

“On your order, sire,” she replied. Looking at the display, Zarkon could see the point of light that was the drop ship, burning hot and bright and clearly throttled all the way open… and with pursuit close behind. On his own display, a small window appeared with the distance to intercept with the drop ship along with the estimated time. He kept an eye on it, and the rapidly closing distance between the ship and its pursuers.

“Send out half a squadron of fighters,” he ordered. “Pick off the ships. Tether, be _very_ precise.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The officer was watching her display, the soft beeping loud to his ears as she waited, waited—

A beam of pink light shot out, capturing the drop ship midflight and pulling it in toward a waiting hangar. At the same time the helm went hard to starboard, breaking their orbit and making for open space, away from the planet’s gravity well.

“Status of our fighters?”

“All pirate ships neutralized, Your Majesty.”

“Quick work. Call them back, and make sure that Commander Jorak knows he is to be on the lookout for any stragglers when he comes to take possession of our base tomorrow.” With a wave of his hands, Zarkon dismissed his displays and left the bridge.

The others were jovial when Zarkon reached the hangar. Gyrgan, his arm being wrapped in bandages by one of the medics, raised a hand in greeting as Zarkon approached.

“How did it appear from above?”

“Far more exciting than sitting in an asteroid belt waiting to make the retrieval. It seems you’ve encountered too _much_ excitement.”

Gyrgan waved his free arm. “It was a lucky shot. But perhaps you needed the excitement more, no? Your attention was not with us this day.”

“He’s got far more pleasant places to take his mind to,” Blatyz said, smirking. “Like a lab with a certain alche—“

“I thought you had it all handled well enough. If you had need of me, I would have responded to the call.”

“Eventually,” Alfor murmured, and very poorly hid his grin at his friend’s look of betrayal. “It was a masterfully done retrieval, though. Between your good timing and your crew’s ability, the day was ours. Eroded discipline or not.”

That, Zarkon lamented as his friends burst into laughter, was their latest catchphrase. If he slipped at all, for any reason, it was because his _discipline_ was _eroding,_ all because Alfor hadn’t been able to keep _one thing_ secret. It would have gotten out eventually, sure, but it would have been a much slower progression.

If they’d been wrong, though, he could have brushed it off. But they weren’t, and while he should have been alarmed at his own lapses, Zarkon found it difficult to care. Though he wished they spent a little less time having their jests at his expense, and a little more time offering actually useful advice. He had never courted anyone, much less an Altean, and had truly never expected to. Unlike Alteans, who had to prove their devotion even after a suit had been accepted, the Galra tended to make arranged marriages, allegiances for power and influence and wealth and military might rather than for love. Certainly Naia had brought her bloodline to the royal family, and her own house was a powerful one, but their feelings for each other were genuine. Zarkon had not harbored the illusion that he’d be able to make such a match.

But now…

Alfor found him on the observation deck of the ship later. The ship had gone into its night cycle; it would be at least another half a quintant before they were back in-system, and they’d arrive late, or early, in Daibazaal’s morning hours after dropping out of hyperjump for his friends to debark for their own homes.

“You ought to be getting some sleep,” he said, hands clasped at his back. “It is later on Altea now than it is even on Daibazaal, and my ships run on our planet’s time.”

“I fear I cannot yet.” Alfor stood beside him, leaning his forearms on the rail just in front of the windows. “It seems I’m not the only one with a mind that won’t stop working.”

Zarkon didn’t reply right away, and Alfor didn’t push him. It was something he appreciated about his friend, who was perfectly capable of chattering away about whatever project he was working on at the time for long enough to fill any void, but also able to recognize when quiet was called for. They stood in companionable silence and watched the star-streaks tick past on their way back to the home system, until at last Zarkon said, “Was it like this for you?”

“Like what?”

“Consuming.”

Alfor shrugged, turning and leaning on his elbows, staring into the darkness of the deck. They were the only ones there, at this hour. It was the only way for any of this to come out. “Love does have a way of becoming one’s singular focus. It is fierce and proud and refuses to be shut out, and the more you try to will it away the more it digs in.”

“I don’t think we’re quite at _love,_ Alfor.”

His friend pressed a hand to his chest, blue eyes wide with shock. “You wound me!”

“ _Alfor_.” Zarkon watched the stars again, letting Alfor snicker to himself. “Even if Honerva does return my sentiments—“

“Which I think she _does—“_

“—what could I, a Galra, offer an Altean?”

“You’re looking at it from the wrong angle. This isn’t about Galran and Altean, or emperor and alchemist, it’s how one person feels about another. The more you show her how you feel, the better an idea you’ll have of where she stands. Honerva will tell you herself one way or the other, I’ll bet. She knows her mind and her heart and she hasn’t held back before, on anything else, _ever,_ so...” Alfor put his hand on Zarkon’s shoulder. “I make my jokes, but I really do want you to find happiness, Zarkon.”

The conversation turned then to other things, to Alfor’s work with the comet alloy, to matters concerning their respective domains. Alfor’s father had not been well for many decaphebes, and Alfor had taken on many of the duties of king, hoping to relieving the pressure.

“To be honest, I’m rather glad for it,” he said. “Not my father’s health, but for the time away from the lab. The comet ore, it’s… it really does frighten me sometimes. I’ve lost entire afternoons in the blink of an eye, looked up only not to remember when I made changes to a design. It’s as though something else has plans for the ore, and I’m nothing more than a conduit.”

“It is quintessence-infused, is it not? Perhaps Honerva’s research will turn up some reason for this.”

“We’ve always known quintessence has strange effects if one’s exposed to it for too long, but this feels… different. This is a power that we haven’t encountered before. It’s almost _alive_.”

“Ships that can think for themselves might be an asset in battle.”

“I suppose,” Alfor said, but he looked troubled, and when the ship dropped out of hyperjump above Altea, he left with a crease in his forehead, lost in thought.

*

 

**D 07.1245.03**

**T 0945.124 ALT**

A: Have you reached Daibazaal yet?

**T 1321.045 ALT**

 

Z: Apologies. I was not awoken at my usual hour.  
A: Probably for the best. Your temper’s even worse when you haven’t slept.  
Z: It is not.  
A: Nyzum, last year.  
Z: There were extenuating circumstances on Nyzum.  
A: Sure there were.

**T 1328.567 ALT**

 

A: I went to check on the fabrication for one of the ships – I had one of my techs come in to monitor it while we were gone – Zarkon, there are no joins, no weld points. The metal’s all one piece again.  
Z: What are you saying?  
A: I’m saying that when it’s finished, it won’t look like it was _made_. It won’t look like someone else had a hand in its formation.  
Z: Perhaps your fabricators are just that good.  
A: I wish that were so.  
Z: This is a strange development. Perhaps there will be answers from the rift team.

*

“Centi for your thoughts, Alfor?

He turned from his examination of one of the weld spots on what would be… well, it looked less like a landing strut and more like a giant _paw_. Or—well, there _should_ have been a weld there. The metal had flowed together, creating a seamless piece of metal. He’d have written it off to excellent work as Zarkon had suggested, but he knew no machinist and no fabrication apparatus capable of such work, and he knew the properties of the ore itself and the alloy he’d created with it too well to assume that it was something inherent in the material.

“It’s not worth that,” he replied. “Trigel, come take a look at this.”

His friend climbed down into the fabrication bay, heedless of the sparks falling around them from the other work going on. The Dalterii were _more_ advanced in many ways, and Alfor had spent some time among them, trying to learn their methods. He’d had to give it up as beyond his ability to learn or even comprehend, for the Dalterii crafters seemed to be able to shape things with their minds rather than any tools. Trigel had been a crafter herself before being chosen to lead her people, and her opinion was held in high esteem not only by Alfor but by nearly every Altean alchemist she’d met.

Now, her brows rose. “What am I meant to be looking at?”

“This plate—“ he put his hand on the one on top of the… the _claw_ , for lack of a better term, “And _this_ one,” he indicated the one joined to it at a right angle, “Were two pieces of metal.”

“Impossible. There’s no marks of machining. It must have been one piece of metal.”

“No.” Alfor waved a hand and the design specifications moved over the text conversations to the front of the display. “Look, this is what this assembly is—“ he enlarged the view of the—gods be damned, the _paw—_ and gestured to it. “Two pieces of metal.”

“...interesting.” Trigel leaned over the paw again, running her fingers along its surface briefly before she pulled them away. “It feels—warm.”

“It shouldn’t. This was fabricated while we were away.”

“No, like… _living_ things.” Trigel reached out again, touching the join. “I cannot tell you how to explain this. I wouldn’t know where to _begin_. But since the comet ore was quintessence-infused it’s possible this is something we haven’t seen before.”

“It’s possible. We don’t get much quintessence infusion in metal, except what sacred Alteans work with… I’ll have to ask Naia about it, when I get a chance.”

They climbed up to the observation and research deck again, watching as giant robotic arms manipulated the parts made of the alloy and held them in place. Alfor wondered if there would be seams when he came back.

“How’s she doing? You aren’t spending too much time down here, are you, Alfor?”

“No, no. She’s… been a great help. Father—well, you know. I find myself turning to Naia often for advice, especially if it concerns one of the greater houses. She can navigate that world far better than I can.” He cleared his throat. “And she’s started a sort of… betting pool. For, you know. Our mutual friend. But for the love of the ancient ones, _don’t tell anyone_. It’s just for the four of us, Naia, and Coran.”

Trigel snorted. “What are her thoughts?”

“They’ll have made their courtship official by _Stirill_. I think Gyrgan said that they’d wait until after Phebover, after all the festivities died down, but Naia didn’t like the odds on that.”

“I think your wife’s too canny to miss the mark by nearly a phebe. Besides, what better place to debut a future mate than _Stirill_ , with all the lights?”

“Well...”

“You disagree?”

“I think Honerva wouldn’t like the attention, and the Galra can be… unforgiving. Besides, _Stirill_ is an Altean festival, and Daibazaal has its own to celebrate the change of the season, the lessening of the winds. If there is no official announcement by _Vor’helion,_ then it’ll be at Phebover.”

“A reasoned answer.” Trigel crossed her arms, but her mouth was twitched up in a grin. “I just hope it’ll be soon. I’ve never seen Zarkon so… ruffled.”

Alfor’s comm buzzed in a specific pattern, indicating a message coming in from a very particular sender. He grimaced and silenced it. “I hope so too,” he muttered.

*

“She’s in the rift chamber, Your Majesty. They’re about to drop a probe.”

Ignoring the knowing look from the Altean who’d led him in from the landing pads outside the crater, Zarkon emerged into the main gallery. Most of the team members, both Galra and Altean, seemed to be here—clustered at consoles or standing at the glass, looking down onto the rift chamber where a boom had been erected next to the edge of the walkway around the rift. There were half a dozen alchemists down there—he recognized Marmora’s crests, but he couldn’t see Honerva until he’d walked a little farther down the gallery.

She was on her back under the probe, up to her elbows in a panel, gesturing for tools occasionally. She’d adjust something, check a holodisplay hovering just to the side, and make further adjustments, methodical and precise. At last she slid out from under the probe, and as she did, their eyes met.

Honerva smiled, lifting a grease-streaked hand in greeting. Zarkon returned the gesture.

Something bumped against his legs, and he looked down to see Kova. The cat’s eyes seemed to reflect the light of the rift itself, blinking up at him with the same unimpressed expression as before. “Hello, cat,” he said. Kova meowed loudly and trotted off down the gallery.

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty,” one of the Alteans said in a long-suffering tone. “I’m pretty sure Honerva’s the only one he likes. Oh, here we go.”

They both turned back to the rift chamber. The team had retreated behind a partial particle barrier, leaning over their displays. The boom lifted the probe out of its cradle, swinging out and extending over the center of the rift. It hung there for a long moment, swinging gently on its cord.

“Drop in ten ticks.” Over the address system, Honerva sounded calm, collected.

It was _almost_ anticlimactic; the probe dropped, swallowed in light, and for a moment there was nothing. Then a jet of golden light shot out of the rift, and the team down in the chamber all ducked further behind the particle barrier and the console (all but one, a silver head that crouched but did not hide, her face turned toward the light almost defiantly) until the geyser subsided. All around him, the scientists and alchemists had cried out and ducked too, but now began talking quietly in their groups, especially as the console screens began to light up one by one. In the chamber below the team lowered the particle barrier and stepped out, working quickly; a golden substance had coated some of the crates and structures close to the rift, and they collected samples, arranging them in racks.

Honerva had a rack of them in her hands when she reached the top of the ramp. Her eyes were bright and there was a big smile on her face—along with several smudges of grease from the probe’s innards—as she handed the rack off to one of the alchemists.

“Get these analyzed as quickly as you can, Koniva,” she said. “I want to know everything you can tell me, all right? Your Majesty! Did you see?”

She didn’t wait for his response but blew past him, and like a comet, he could only follow, drawn by her gravity. “It doesn’t look like it was very successful.”

“Oh, we lost the probe’s signal almost immediately. But it _did_ collect a little data, and it was able to send it back. It’ll be a while before it’s fully analyzed, but I think it’ll be _very_ illuminating. And that substance—it’s quintessence, no question, but it’s got to be different than what we can refine now. I want to know _everything_.”

Zarkon was able to hold his own in their conversation this time, mostly. He’d spent much of his down time on this latest mission reading—papers Honerva had published, works related to her studies, anything to help him understand. _The emperor ought to understand fully what happens on the soil of his homeworld_ , he’d told the master archivist to try and wipe the knowing look off her face. Mostly, though, he wanted to learn, to be able to communicate with Honerva on a level closer to her own when it came to her work. She was putting in the time to understand his people, and it was right that he do the same to understand her.

“You’ve been doing your own research, Zarkon.” Honerva said. Most of the alchemists had cleared out by then; it was darkening outside, and the main gallery was lit by only the glow panels and the light from the rift, quiet once more. She was leaning against a console, legs crossed at the ankle, watching him intently with eyes that seemed liquid in the gold-cast light.

“I dislike having gaps in my knowledge, especially when it comes to matters important to me.” Zarkon mirrored her posture, looking at the rift but watching her out of the corner of his eye. “You said you train your mind. I can do the same.”

Her lips tilted up in a smile, and the way the light fell on her face made that beast in his chest wake up, twisting over itself. It was that private smile, the one he’d only ever seen directed at him. “Just so,” she murmured.

The console they were leaning on chimed, and Honerva seemed to collect herself, turning to pull a chair over with a foot as windows appeared in the holodisplay.

“What is it?”

“Preliminary analysis of the quintessence samples we got earlier. Your Galra scientists work _fast_.” Her hands flew over the keys, performing her own analyses of the data they’d given her, watching as results spooled across in front of her. “This is _incredible_. Look,” she pointed at one of the windows, a graph showing a few different-colored lines. “This is a comparison between different types of quintessence used. This line here, this blue one? This is what Altean ships use, our refined quintessence collected with the aid of sacred Alteans. This is what the Galra use, this purple line. And _this_ ,” she indicated a gold line, far above the other two. “This is what we pulled out today.”

Zarkon leaned in, an arm braced on the back of her chair. “This is telling us…?”

“This is the purity of the quintessence sample. Most quintessence is about seventy, eighty percent pure. Our best refinement methods just aren’t getting us more, the most I’ve seen is about eighty-six percent. _This_ , what we got from the rift? It’s _one hundred percent pure_.”

“Is that possible?”

“I’ll have to triple-check the analysis, but I trust your scientists, Zarkon. I guess it’s possible _now_.” She turned to look up at him, her eyes wide. “Pure quintessence—there’s a _wealth_ of possibilities there. We’ve _never_ seen this before, never...”

Honerva trailed off and suddenly Zarkon was aware of how close they were, how small a distance separated their faces. His arm was along the back of her chair, and her shoulders bumped against it as she moved. But not _away;_ she was leaning _toward_ him, her hand sliding along the console. Their fingers bumped and they both froze as though afraid further contact would break whatever…. Whatever this was, whatever was happening in this moment right now. As though it would stop Honerva, her eyes half-lidded as she tilted her chin up, as though it would stop him from leaning down, as though it would stop the way his heart seemed to be in a race with itself to go ever faster. Her nose bumped against his, he felt a puff of her warm breath—

“Honerva! Come get a look—oh, Your Majesty!”

She leaned back quickly, spinning in the same fluid motion to duck around him and half-jog over to where one of the Alteans was holding out a tablet, leaving Zarkon there to collect himself and stamp down the irritation that was his first reaction to being interrupted. Luckily, neither of them could see him clench his hands into fists for a long minute, then release them one finger at a time.

Honerva seemed maddeningly calm when she turned back to him, the tablet in hand. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” she said. “I’ve got to take care of this.”

“It’s—no need to apologize,” he replied. “As ever, I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

“You aren’t. I’ll comm the palace with anything new that we learn.”

Zarkon wanted to say something, to finish what they’d almost begun. But the moment had passed, the nighttime lighting had come up in the main gallery and washed out of the golden glow. He tamped down disappointment along with the irritation. “I look forward to it.”

In his fighter on the way back to the palace, though, he thought about the brush of Honerva’s fingers, the closeness of her. Despite the interruption, the beast in his chest wasn’t discouraged. _Not now, but also not_ never _,_ it seemed to say. _Not now, but soon_.

*

**D 07.1245.05  
** **T 0523.234 ALT**

Z: But in all seriousness, Alfor, how did you do it? How did you manage it without going utterly mad?

**T 0642.236 ALT**

Z: Even sleep eludes me.

**T 0754.748 ALT**

Z: Alfor, if you are passing this on to your wife or to the others again…

**T 0801.731 ALT**

A: No.  
Z: Is something the matter?  
A: I… It’s my father. The doctors don’t know…  
Z: What do you need?

**T 1735.305 ALT**

A: He’s gone.

*

Honerva bowed her head as she stepped up to the bier, the hem of her fuschia gown a quiet whisper on the polished floor of the hall. As a personal friend of Alfor—she supposed technically he was still _Prince,_ although he’d long since stopped holding her to titles—she’d been invited to this final viewing, King Althon’s sending into whatever lay beyond death. Althon had always been kind to her, encouraged her work, been the one to speak her praises. He had been ill for many, many decaphebes, but had always bounced back. This time it had simply been too much, and the man who lay before her seemed diminished somehow, like a part of him was gone. It wasn’t logical—there was no way to quantify a soul, or whatever it was that drew quintessence into a person—but she could not reconcile the small and pale face and the thin body draped in the blue and gold of the royal house with the man she’d known.

As she passed him, Alfor reached for her hand briefly and Honerva took it. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Naia had her hands clasped tightly to his other hand. She gave Honerva a small smile, though. Naia had quietly said she was glad that Honerva had come, last night.

“It is not only the loss of his father,” she’d said as the two of them stood off to the side, watching Alfor receive mourners. “But the upending of his life. He is king now in all but oath. He’d shouldered much of the burden already, but now it all falls to him. He’s in shock, he needs his friends, familiar faces.”

Alfor let his hand slide away, tucking it back into Naia’s, and Honerva moved back into the stream of mourners making their way to their seats once more. Her eyes met Zarkon’s, sitting in the first row allotted for visiting dignitaries; he seemed sad too, though she couldn’t miss the way his expression brightened just a little upon seeing her. Her smile was small, and though she longed to take his hands as Naia held Alfor’s, she simply laced her fingers in front of her and kept moving. It wasn’t the time or the place, she told herself firmly. It had hardly been the time or place at the crater, either. Not that she’d been _unhappy_ , just surprised at herself, at how willing she’d been.

It was like gravity, she thought. Two objects attracting each other through the void in order to be closer together. To be less lonely.

There was a gathering, after Althon had been carried down to be interred with his forefathers and foremothers and his wife. It was a somber affair, the voices strangely muted, movements slow. Usually she could sit back and watch the glittering crowd, but this time she could not. Althon had been a good king. She was sad, even if it meant that her friend was going to fulfill his birthright.

Eventually when the stream of guests slowed, Honerva made her way to where Alfor and Naia sat side by side. She curtsied, and as expected, it got Alfor to snort and pull her to her feet.

“None of that,” he said. “You’re practically family anyway.”

“I know I said it when you commed, but I am sorry for your loss, Alfor, Naia. I have… I was fond of your father. He got me a place at university. I wish I had found a way to repay him fully.”

“He wouldn’t have accepted it. He was just glad to see you succeed, as was I.” Alfor held her hands. “You said you’d stay?”

“My team at the crater can handle things there for a few movements. If being here will help you more, then I will be here, and they can just send me data as they need. In any case, I want to see these ships you’re building. The way you talk about them...”

Alfor smiled a little. “You’re going to love them. The ore’s done wondrous things.”

“I can’t wait.” She released his hands, embraced Naia (who whispered her thanks into Honerva’s ear again), gave Coran a sympathetic nod, and stepped off the dais to go get another cup of nunvill.

She drifted back as the night wore on and guests began to leave. Alfor and Naia had left the chairs on the dais in favor of more comfortable seats, pulled up in a circle with Trigel and Blaytz and Gyrgan and Coran, the lot of them trading stories about Althon. Zarkon was there too, an arm along the back of the couch, and as she approached, Honerva saw Trigel look up and move so that there was an empty spot next to him. And as though it was the most natural thing in the world for her to be seated with emperors and kings and ministers, Honerva took it.

Coran was in the middle of a story, but seamlessly managed to pass Honerva a bottle of nunvill to top up her cup with. It was a very fine brew, and warmth shot through her at the first sip… or maybe that had something to do with the way the seating had her _very_ close to Zarkon, her knee bumping into his leg anytime she shifted. _Not the time,_ she tried to remind herself, but it was difficult when their proximity had her body singing for more.

She didn’t have many stories to add, not when the others had known King Althor longer or worked with him more closely, but she told of how he got her into university, of how he’d pulled her up in front of a state dinner to talk about her work which had led to a grant for her proposed study, which had opened so many doors for her she hadn’t known which one to run through first. She smiled fondly into her nunvill when she finished, remembering how King Althon had smiled encouragingly at her, this gangly young alchemist fresh out of the university, with a head full of ideas but no way to act on them.

“He was a good man,” she said softly, and raised her cup. The others toasted and drank, and when she’d finished, Honerva set her cup down on a tray floating by and stood (without wobbling, which was better than she’d done at the end of the dinner she’d had to speak in front of). “And I hope he’ll excuse me leaving now, but I want to awake before noon tomorrow.”

“Today,” Blaytz corrected.

“Today,” Honerva agreed. She bid Alfor and Naia goodnight and made her way out into the halls. The lifts would be quicker and easier, but she wanted the exertion of the stairs and the walk, and when she heard booted footsteps coming up rapidly behind her, a part of her was very glad she stopped.

“Alfor was worried you’d end up curled in a corner instead of your bed and asked me to make sure you got to your room,” he explained, looking rather flustered at the idea. Honerva felt her heart do a strange stutter-start in her chest.

“It was _one time_ ,” she groused. “You’ll tell him I appreciate the thought?”

“Of course.” Zarkon hesitated when she slipped a hand around his arm, but in imitation of Altean fashion he covered it with his own, and _oh_ , she was probably, possibly, hopefully _not_ making a mistake, and even if she was, she didn’t care at the moment.

They walked in silence. Altea was beautiful, and though she was dedicated to her work at the crater, Honerva couldn’t help but miss home a little bit. She’d planned a visit to her family while she was here, out in the rolling hills, but even the city was lovely and gleaming white in the light of Altea’s moons. So different than Daibazaal’s red plains and strange seas.

“Will you be returning to Daibazaal?” she asked. Her voice sounded loud.

“Briefly.” Zarkon hesitated. “I’ll be away, though. For at least a phebe, on patrol. I like to stay abreast of what’s going on in my empire, and I don’t always trust my generals to bring me accurate information.”

Something in her gut twisted a little, even though logically in the course of their lifespans a phebe wasn’t that long. “That’ll be interesting, I’m sure,” she murmured.

“It will at least show me the true state of things.” Zarkon seemed to want to say more but didn’t, and Honerva wondered what it could be, her mind spinning out possibilities as infinite as the universe itself. He said nothing more until she stopped in front of one of the doors along a hallway.

“I… would like it if you commed,” she said, her tongue suddenly thick in her mouth. “Not every day. Just sometimes. So I can tell you all about these ships of Alfor’s, pass along the latest gossip from the Altean court. All the important things.”

“As you wish,” and she’d never thought of him as _quiet_ or _small_ but he was quiet now, head tilted forward, watching her intently. The thing she’d felt at that console in the crater began to grow again. _Not the time or the place_.

But it surely wouldn’t matter if she reached up, her fingers pressing him down just a little more so she could kiss his cheek. His skin was different, felt different on her lips. She liked it.

“Goodnight, Zarkon,” she said softly, palming open the door to her quarters. “Safe travels.”

“Goodnight, Honerva,” he replied, just before the door closed behind her. She leaned against it, listening as his footsteps receded, willing her heart to slow down enough to let her sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took a while! I was trying to stick to a weekly schedule, but real life and then a friend emergency got in the way. But it's extra big to make up for it!

**D 08.1245.17  
T 1734.034 ALT**

Z: We should be one more quintant, to answer your earlier question. Then back to the system at last.  
A: Good to know. What’s the plan?  
Z: A brief stop by Altea, to offload some cargo and pick up a fresh team of scientists and alchemists for the crater installation.  
Z: And Honerva.  
A: I thought it was implied you’d be picking her up.  
A: [link sent_bytorwink]

**T 1743.235 ALT**

Z: Don’t be crude. You are going to be king.  
A: So serious.  
A: But good. I’m looking forward to seeing you, and I know Honerva is as well.  
Z: Did she say that?  
A: She didn’t have to.  
A: ...but yes, she has said it.  
Z: Tell her I feel the same.  
A: Tell her yourself. I think she needs a reminder that there’s a world outside the fabrication lab.

*

The Galra battle cruiser dropped out of hyperjump and approached Altea on a long vector, its engines throttling down to in-system levels. In their positions around the command dais, the helm and comm officers spoke quickly and quietly, the comm channel with Altean Control open on their screens. As soon as they were cleared for orbital insertion the helm took over, and with an almost-imperceptible firing of maneuvering thrusters, the great ship moved into geosynchronous orbit above the capitol city.

A trio of fighters emerged from one of the hangar bays; the leader, clearly eager to reach ground, shot ahead of their escort. They wove around the white skyarches, the structures that were full of homes, businesses, the things that kept an interstellar alliance moving smoothly, and dropped through wispy clouds.

Unlike Daiba City, with its buildings designed to deflect and withstand the near-constant high wings that swept from the planet’s pole to its tips, Alteeai was a city of high, fluted towers and gleaming white buildings so delicately shaped that they looked ready to fall over with the slightest push. The climate in this part of the planet was mild; its winters short, its summers long, and so its people had, early on in their civilization, been able to design things to be beautiful as well as functional. Against the gleam, the Galra fighters were red and gray shadows, arcing in to land in a cloud of dust in the courtyard of the palace, where a lone figure waited.

“Quite a showy entrance,” Alfor called as the canopy of the lead fighter dematerialized. Despite his size and armor, Zarkon landed easily, his cape flying as the engines of the fighters whipped the air around them.

“It’s only eagerness, not showiness. _That,_ I leave to you and Blaytz.”

“ _Eagerness_ , hm?”

“To be off a ship I’ve been on for over a phebe, yes.” Zarkon hoped his expression would forestall any teasing on _other subjects_ , and to his credit, Alfor took the hint. Although his eyes twinkled more than they ought, he simply turned and led Zarkon inside.

“How are things out in the world?”

“Things in the empire are calm, mostly. That mining dispute on Thayserix took longer than anticipated to unravel, hence my delay, but it was resolved to everyone’s satisfaction. And you, my friend?”

Alfor waved a hand. “I’ve been… well, _occupied_ , I suppose is the best word. The coronation’s still phebes away but Altea and the worlds beholden to it need guidance. As do I, most of the time. My father held a lifetime of information in his mind, but when he died, it went with him. I’m doing my best to catch up.”

“It was so with my father as well. Alliances and respect earned over one’s reign do not always translate to the heir.”

Naia greeted him warmly, taking his hands and stretching herself a little to kiss both his cheeks. She still wore her mourning pinks, but the shadow that had been on her face at the funeral of the king had lifted. “It’s good to see you, Zarkon,” she said. “Your trip was productive?”

“Illuminating, Your Highness. As they always are.”

“I hope you’ll stay with us for a few quintants before continuing home to Daibazaal, though if you want to get back to matters there...”

“I couldn’t possibly refuse your hospitality.”

“Wonderful.” Naia’s smile had a calculating quality to it, one that Zarkon wondered if he ought to trust. Alfor’s expression was carefully neutral, which said more about the situation than he probably intended. “I’ll have a suite readied for you. And you’ll join us for dinner?”

“Of course.”

“Wonderful,” Naia repeated. She released him, went to Alfor briefly, and after a whispered discussion, they parted ways with a kiss. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight,” she said, took her attendants, and left down another corridor. Zarkon watched, both amused and a little concerned, as Alfor took a breath to settle himself.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Alfor answered too quickly. “Let’s keep going.”

“Before she comes back?”

“Before she comes back.”

Alfor definitely had a destination in mind as they wandered, nudging his friend with his shoulder to get him to turn down this hallway or that staircase, but it wasn’t until they were outside the doors to Alfor’s fabrication laboratory that he realized where they were going. The conversation had distracted him, which had possibly been the point, because he couldn’t imagine not paying attention for long enough to get lost in a palace he’d spent significant amounts of time in as a youth and then as heir to the Galra throne. Zarkon froze, staring at the door panel. Alfor watched him, lips twitching at the corners.

“I’m sure you know how to operate a door, given that you’ve managed to rule the Galra Empire for decaphebes,” he said. Zarkon gave him a withering look.

“You’re becoming as cunning as your wife.”

“High praise, given that I never was cunning before.”

“You brought me here to—“

“—greet a woman you’ve been pining for after the two of you have been separated by thousands of lightyears?”

“I haven’t been _pining_.” At Alfor’s dubious look, Zarkon repeated, “I _haven’t_. And it’s only just that I’m not… _prepared_.”

“Then you’ve invented something altogether new and we should all be very proud.” Alfor stepped away, walking backward toward the stairs. “Just go to her, be sincere. It’ll be _fine_.”

He beat a very hasty retreat, leaving Zarkon standing in front of the door. He’d… _intended_ to do this, of course. But he’d wanted a moment to collect himself, perhaps rehearse what ought to be said. They’d had their conversations—she’d asked him to comm and what could he do but oblige her, and it had helped ease the uncomfortable way his heart sometimes called out for her as though it knew that they ought not be separated. But it hadn’t been the same as seeing her talk about her work in person, for holoscreens and comm channels couldn’t properly translate the way her eyes lit up. It couldn’t completely capture his own words, as earnest as he said them, or the gentleness of her smile as she leaned her chin in her palm and listened. Something had always been missing, and now he had the chance to see it in person, and _why_ was he so hesitant?

Zarkon put his palm on the door panel and it slid open, and he went through.

The lab was on half-lighting, and down in the bay, sprays of sparks lit a half-formed machine. He peered into the darkness, let his eyes adjust, but he still could not discern what it was meant to be. It seemed to have four pylons and a body that was roughly cylindrical, but it looked like no manner of ship that he knew. Off to one side, stacks of material waited to be used, more than seemed quite necessary for this one ship.

Rubbing his forehead—the light, a strange mix of bright Altean glow panels and dimness and sparks, must have strained his Galran eyesight enough to make his head ache—Zarkon turned from the fabrication bay to the control deck, up a short flight of steps. He couldn’t hear anyone moving around, but Alfor wouldn’t have led him here without reason.

“Honerva?” he called out, climbing the steps, and that was when he saw her.

She was at a console overlooking the bay, her head resting on her folded arms. Kova, curled up on top of the console, only opened one yellow eye as he approached. But he closed it and shifted, covering his eyes with a paw as though to block out the light. Honerva’s bangs had fallen across her face, but he could see the silver crescents of her eyelashes, shimmering in the light.

Part of him wanted to wake her, to take her in his arms and say that he had missed her terribly despite that they’d commed often. But she looked tired. He could wait.

A search of the cabinets nearby turned up no blankets, and he didn’t want to comm Alfor to bring him one, so after a moment of deliberation he undid the clasps on his cape and folded it around her carefully. As disappointing as it was not to be able to talk to her now, he’d see her at some point. She had his cape, after all. For a moment he hovered by her, a fingertip poised to push her hair back from her face. But that was perhaps _too_ forward, and so he settled for smoothing his cape across her shoulders and turning to go. He was halfway back to the steps when he heard a soft, sleepy voice behind him.

“Zarkon?”

He turned. Honerva’s eyes were heavy-lidded but open, reflecting the aqua light of the console. She smiled at him, and his heart did a funny leap in his chest. “I apologize for waking you.”

“No, no. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place.” She sat up, and as she did she registered the weight on her shoulders. Her hands picked up the folds of his cape and she let it run through them, her expression shifting now. “Did you…?”

Zarkon watched her fingers play with the edges; he didn’t trust himself to look in her eyes just yet. “I didn’t want you to be cold.”

Honerva stood, keeping his cape wrapped around her shoulders as she stretched, grimacing. “It would have served me right to wake up frozen solid,” she said, rubbing at the place where her cheek had been pressed against the console. “But then I would have missed you, and _that_ wouldn’t have been good. Because I did. Miss you.”

She seemed almost embarrassed by the admission, the tips of her ears red and her fingers playing with his cape again as she looked away. Zarkon sent a prayer to any deity listening asking that he be struck with the gift of silver speech, but when no such gift seemed forthcoming, he did the best he knew to do. “And I missed you, Honerva. None of my officers are as pleasant to be around.”

“I’d hope not.”

He had to check her expression to make sure she was joking, but when he saw that she was, Zarkon returned her smile, feeling quite warm all over. “Do you want to be left to your work?”

“What time is—oh, no, I have to get ready. Naia asked me to come to dinner with them tonight, and I’ve left it so long, I’m going to be late—“

“I think they’ll wait if their other guest is also late.”

Something passed across Honerva’s face at that—a flash of realization about something that he could not discern—but then it was gone, and she was shaking her head, walking over to him as she pulled his cape off her shoulders. “No, I couldn’t ask you to be rude _for_ me.”

“I am proposing that we be rude _together_.”

“Even worse.” She took the clasps of his cape in her hands and _stretched_ until she was tall enough to reach his shoulders. She had to step in close to do up the clasps, though, and for a solid thirty ticks Zarkon had no idea what to do. Could he touch her? _Should_ he touch her? His fingers itched, and when she overbalanced and scrabbled for purchase, he caught her by the hip in one hand and it was not warmth this time but _heat_ , the heat of her body through her clothes and the heat that raced up his arm from the point of contact. Honerva’s breath caught for a second, but she shifted to his other shoulder and finished the job. “There.”

She returned to her usual size, and now his hand nearly spanned the width of her back. Zarkon waited, expecting her to duck and move away. But she stayed, her fingertips resting on his chest armor, leaning slightly into his touch as she looked up at him. It stole what few words he had from his throat, her gaze, steady and trusting and warm.

It was Kova who interrupted them this time, leaping down from the console with a loud meow and trotting over to wind around their ankles. Zarkon stepped back, letting his hand fall away. “I’ll take you to your room,” he said. Honerva seemed as flustered as he felt, at least.

“That—yes, I think that’d be best.”

Kova’s orange tail led the way, back up to the public areas of the palace and then to the residential wing, where he meowed loudly by Honerva’s door until she opened it for him to go inside while she lingered. He could not help but think of how they had parted in front of this door last time, about the press of her lips on his cheek and the flush on her skin, visible even in the dim nighttime lighting. She was flushed now too, but smiling, and he felt her fingers brush the back of his hand before she disappeared into her quarters.

There wasn’t nearly as much preparation he had to do for dinner. It wasn’t a state dinner, so no special armor was necessary, but true to his word to Honerva he lingered past the time he ought to have left, and when he did go down to dinner he caught her half-walking, half-jogging along the corridor in her fine forest-green dress, still fussing with her hair. She’d pulled it out of her usual bun, letting it hang long around her shoulders, and kept pushing it back out of her eyes.

“You actually waited,” she said, stopping dead when she saw him.

“I would not want to be made a liar.”

Honerva shook her head, but she was smiling, and when he offered his arm she took it.

Alfor and Naia were already seated when they arrived. It was more than a little suspicious that he and Honerva were seated next to each other, but though one of her eyebrows shot up toward her hairline, Honerva said nothing about it. Zarkon had the idea that they were being manipulated, but if she wasn’t going to call attention to it, he would not either. Naia had a superior look on her face the whole time. Alfor just looked a little exasperated.

After dinner, they left to the more comfortable seating of the lounge. One of the servants offered him wine, which Zarkon took despite usually finding Altean wines too sweet. Naia and Honerva had revived some kind of argument over quintessence and its uses and properties, one that had clearly been had out before, and the rise and fall of their voices filled the room. Alfor was staring bemusedly into his wine, one hand laced with his wife’s. Honerva had boldly seated herself at Zarkon’s side, and he watched as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, rehashing a point she’d obviously made several times before, only to have it rebuffed by Naia.

“...all I’m saying, Honerva, is that it’s _impossible_ to think of quintessence that way and fully understand it. There’s an element to this that you’re missing, because you _insist_ on approaching it like it’s any other substance in the universe.”

“Why shouldn’t I? Everything is matter, the _same_ matter. Stars, ships, asteroids—so it stands to reason that at its basest level, quintessence is the same and can be manipulated in the same way.”

“And I tell you again, it cannot be.”

“You say this and always refuse to say _why_...”

Alfor shot him a sympathetic look. “I should have known better than to let them get momentum,” he whispered. “I’ve had to hear variations on this argument for over a phebe.”

“It wouldn’t be an argument if Honerva acknowledged that not everything can be explained by science.”

“Or if Naia admitted that _science_ and _magic_ aren’t mutually exclusive.” Honerva sat back, her cup of wine in one hand, and let her other one dropped to the few inches of cushion between them. A few of her fingers fell across his, and she curled them, trapping his hand, keeping him from pulling it back; when Zarkon looked over there was color to her cheeks and a small grin on her lips.

The conversation eventually turned to other things, Naia and Honerva having exhausted their usual argument or reached an agreed-upon end point. Alfor asked how things were going in the outer planets; problems that started at the fringes of the Galra Empire tended to become Altean problems as well, so Zarkon filled him in on what he thought appropriate.

Honerva kept her hand on his the whole time, only removing it to gesture while speaking, or to make a point. But it always found its way back, and by the time Alfor begged off another round of debate about the merits of self-determination, she’d had her whole palm resting atop his hand for a long time. Her skin was warm and smooth, her fingertips absently rubbing along his. It hadn’t been terribly distracting, but it had made a part of Zarkon feel… comfortable, in a way he hadn’t before.

“Now, Honerva, I know the wine isn’t nunvill—“

“I had _one cup_.” Honerva pulled her hand away to point a finger at Alfor. “And it was _one time_ , Alfor, _one time_ that I was too tired to hike back to my student quarters across the city and didn’t think anyone would find me in the palace library.”

“Tired wasn’t the only thing you were after that dinner.”

“All right, yes, I was _drunk_ , but I’d just gained a royal patron and gotten a grant offer in the same night I’d gone in wearing a borrowed dress because I didn’t have the money for a new one, what did you _think_ would happen?”

At the door, Naia nudged Zarkon’s arm. “Perhaps you’d best escort her again all the same,” she said, entirely too casually. Honerva was looking at her with narrowed eyes; Alfor at least had the grace to look embarrassed, but Zarkon knew Naia well enough to know she’d not let it go. Still, it wouldn’t do to treat Honerva like some kind of inept child when she was the farthest from.

“If the lady is agreeable?”

It gave her an out; if she wasn’t agreeable, if she was tired of being taken to places she knew well (if she was tired of _him_ ) she could turn down the offer and walk back to her quarters alone. But…

“The _alchemist_ is agreeable. I really am no lady.”

“Then to bed with you.” Naia clasped their hands in turn. “Join us for breakfast in the morning. In the hall, with everyone else.”

“I will.” Honerva didn’t take his hand or arm, but she stood close enough that he could feel the skirts of her dress, the warmth of her. “With my guide, I may even be able to _find_ my bed.”

She did finally take his arm as they walked along an open-air promenade, the columns and statues bathed in light from Altea’s moons, holding him fast as she pulled them between the columns and out to the white stone railing.

“I’m not tired yet,” she said, letting go of him to lean on the railing. “Are you?”

Zarkon knew enough to reply, “I am not,” and felt a little rush when Honerva smiled at him. It was that private smile, the one she’d had in the archives and on the landing pad. Her hair was molten silver in the moonlight, and… it wasn’t that he was dumbstruck by her (though that was certainly sometimes true) or surprised, or any such thing. He just found that he suddenly didn’t want to look anywhere else but at her, even when she turned back to the railing and looked up at the stars.

“That’s Daibazaal, is it not?” she asked, pointing up at one of the points of light above them. It had a reddish tint and it was in the right quadrant of the sky, and a quick check of the constellations and bright stars nearby confirmed it.

“It is. You have a keen eye for astronomy as well.”

“We all learn a little astronav. Not every expedition out to unknown planets or strange phenomena can have a full ship’s crew, so. We all do a little of everything."

“I’ve never been without a dedicated navigator.”

“It’s not so bad. You just have to know where you are, and where you’ve been, and where you want to go, and then… go.”

“Even if you might be wrong?”

“Then you back up and try again. But it’s like forging ahead in alchemy—you have to be _willing_ to make the leap before you can actually jump.”

That night, he took her hands in his as he leaned over, pressing a kiss to each of the marks on her cheek. Many nights on his ship, he’d caught himself touching the place her lips had touched as though he could hold the sensation on his skin. It was only right that she have the same feeling—that one small action could embolden, could provide enough drive to continue on. Kissing an Altean’s marks had other connotations, of course, and he’d been careful to research them before doing this, but if the brilliant smile on Honerva’s face or the longing that appeared the moment he pulled away were any indication, Zarkon had done well enough that he took a leap of his own.

“Goodnight,” he said, reaching for her hand one last time before the door could close behind her. “Goodnight, vo _rhai_.”

Honerva stopped, tilting her head. “That’s Galran, isn’t it? What does it mean?”

He smiled and let her go. “Altea has autotranslators, does it not?”

“They didn’t catch that word.”

“It is… unique, perhaps. I’m sure you’ll find a way to discern its meaning.”

She made a face, but there was a spark of challenge in her eyes. “I’ll have it by morning,” she said. “Goodnight, Zarkon.”

*

Naia had to nudge him to get him to look up, but when he did, Alfor quickly lifted his cup to his mouth to hide the smile on his face until he could compose himself.

“All right there, Zarkon?” he asked. His friend had paused in the doorway, clearly taking stock of the occupants of the breakfast room – mostly the noble residents of the palace, a few honored guests, and of course the royal couple themselves – and finding it lacking one. “Come, sit with us.”

He gestured at one of the servants, who ducked out and quickly brought a proper Galra breakfast. _Bless the kitchens,_ Alfor thought, _Because he doesn’t look like he’d think to eat right now unless his face was shoved into it._

Naia was watching Zarkon carefully. “Did you sleep well last night?” she asked delicately. Alfor, who knew that tone of voice too well, became very interested in the remains of his Dalteri eggs. His wife was better at this than he was.

“Very well.” His voice was a little distant, and though he picked up his utensil he didn’t seem aware that he was holding it, or even that there was food there, or that _they_ were there. “Have you seen Honerva today?”

Alfor and Naia exchanged looks—they _had_ , but she’d been in a state herself—and after a battle conducted entirely through expressions and hand motions under the table, Naia fielded the question.

“She wanted to get to the fabrication lab early. Since there’s to be a state dinner tonight—and of course she’s invited, as ranking alchemist and our friend—she thought it best to get right to work.”

“So you saw her this morning? Did she… how did she seem?”

Alfor thought it best not to reply honestly, which would have been _distracted and on edge,_ and settled on the less alarming, “Thoughtful.”

“She did not say anything?”

“About?”

“Ah...”

“Did something happen last night?” Naia asked. Alfor bit his lip—that had been _too_ eager, and Zarkon looked up from his breakfast, eyes narrowing at her.

“No. Nothing happened.”

Alfor quickly redirected the conversation, turning it to the upcoming seasonal festivals and Phebover and his own impending coronation, which would be held between _Stirill_ , the Altean festival of lights celebrating the beginning of the winter season, and the end of the year. A new year, a new ruler, Coran had said. A new era for the people of Altea.

“You’ll be at the ceremony?” he asked as they left the breakfast room. “The official invitation will be going out soon, but...”

“I wouldn’t miss it. You were at my own coronation, after all.”

“Altean ones aren’t as bloody.”

“More’s the pity.” Zarkon seemed about to say something, ask something, but sighed. Alfor fidgeted with a bit of lint in his pocket.

“If I see Honerva should I tell her you’re looking for her?”

“No,” Zarkon replied, too quickly. “No, I’m sure she’ll find me when she’s ready.”

Alfor paused. Something in his friend’s body language—his voice--

“Zarkon… did something happen?” When his friend gave him a strange look, Alfor just crossed his arms. “You’re not _really_ going to try to keep me out of the loop on this.”

“I’d rather not talk about my missteps.”

“I’m sure it’s fixable, whatever it is. Honerva is… well, as far as I know, she’s taken with you. If she didn’t explicitly tell you...”

“I simply overstepped my bounds. Hopefully the damage isn’t irreparable.” Zarkon waved a hand. “I won’t keep you from your duties over it. Until tonight, my friend.”

He found Honerva in the lab, right where she said she’d be. There really wasn’t much to do at this point; the fabrication of the first ship, the first _creature_ , was well underway, and any change to the schematics he’d tried to make had been met with fierce resistance. He’d tried to have Honerva make a few minor changes (why, for example, did the pylons—the legs of the ship—need to retract into its body?) but every time he’d go to sleep and wake up standing in the fabrication lab, his hands on the console, the changes reverted.

“Working hard, Honerva?” he asked. She didn’t jump, but her hands paused on the console for a half-second. Leaning down to pet Kova where he’d curled up on top of her unused chair, Alfor glanced at her screens. “Still trying to make sense of my designs for me?”

“It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.” Honerva scowled at her display, showing the largest of the ships—and there was _no way_ to deny that it looked leonine, not when seeing it in profile, despite the large wing-stalks protruding from its back. She blew up one of the leg assemblies and waved her hand at it. “Are you sure you didn’t design this under the influence of something?”

“I was definitely under the influence, but it wasn’t any substance _I_ know.”

“Why is there all this internal machinery? This joint can go from—oh, hells, looking like the shoulder joint of a big cat, to looking more like an Altean shoulder joint. From quadruped to bipedal. If you look closely at the legs, they look like they’re designed to collapse down. The hind legs, they do the same. What in the name of the Ancients have you come up with here, Alfor?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you. I was hoping you’d have some ideas.”

“I mean, the power plants you’ve designed for them are _ingenious_. You’re using the properties of the ore itself, that’s… that’s not just years, it’s _centuries_ ahead of our current technology and alchemical capability. How did you come up with this, Alfor? Where did you get your ideas?”

She seemed almost angry about it, or at least so intense as to be the same, and Alfor put up his hands. “I wish I had a good answer for you,” he said with a sigh. “But honestly I tell you, I do not. I may as well have been asleep when I came up with these designs.”

Honerva scowled, turning from him back to the schematics. “If you don’t know how to do it, how _did_ you do it?” she muttered, pulling up the power plant design and staring at it. “How do you work?”

She made to sit, but as soon as Kova realized she wasn’t going to let up the pressure and actually didn’t realize he was there, he yowled and struggled out from under her thighs. Honerva yelped in surprise as her cat ran off into the darkness of the fabrication lab. Alfor laughed, pulling up a screen beside her.

“If you don’t mind some company,” he said, “I’ll stay here. If only to keep an eye on you and keep you from doing anything like that again.”

Honerva muttered her thanks, and the two of them settled in to work comfortably together. It reminded Alfor of the time he’d spent at the alchemists’ academy where they’d met; him, all limbs and brain and barely having reached the age of majority at one hundred fifty, and Honerva, a little older and a little more advanced in her studies. She’d been arguing with an instructor about the quintessence refining process and its inefficiency, and to a crown prince newly released into the world, she’d been a force of nature. But they’d become good friends, and Alfor had always counted on Honerva’s expertise in alchemical matters, which had been the biggest justification for inviting her to Daibazaal.

The other part, of course, had been that he’d thought she would get on well with Zarkon, and up to now he hadn’t been wrong. They were both very driven people, and both lonely in ways they refused to admit to anyone or themselves, and he’d wanted to make them both happy.

“Alfor…?”

He looked up from his console, where the plans for the fifth and final ship hovered before him. He’d wanted to go over the plans one more time and see if he could make sense of why this one felt like the lynchpin to the whole thing, the one to knit the whole group of them together. He wanted to be sure it was _right…_ much like he wanted to be sure his friend was feeling right. Now, she had a distant look on her face, and her hands had stilled on the displays before her. How long she’d been like that he didn’t know, but it was clear from her expression that whatever she was thinking, she’d been mulling it over for a while.

“How much of the Galran language do you know?”

“Enough to get on if the autotranslators fail. Why?”

“There’s a word. The autotranslators didn’t catch it.”

“What is it?”

“ _Vorhai_.”

Alfor hummed, pretending to think. He knew the word, of course, but a lot of things about the behavior of his friends today made a lot of sense, suddenly. “It’s not really translatable,” he said at last. “It’s a term of endearment. The closest word we have for its meaning is _beloved_ , I think, but there’s a wealth more to the meaning that can’t really be accurately said in Altean.” He paused, taking in her expression, and then said, “But you already figured that out.”

She put her face in her hands, scrubbing at the bridge of her nose a little. Alfor stayed quiet, letting her work out whatever was going on in her mind, knowing better than to rush her. “You’re _his_ friend, aren’t you?”

He turned off his display and leaned on his elbows. “I’d like to think so.”

“So you would know what he’s thinking.”

“Well, as much as anyone who isn’t Zarkon himself can know what he’s thinking at any given time. Why? What’s going on?”

Honerva took a deep breath, and when she spoke again the words came out in a rush. “I… Alfor, I have to know, I _need_ to know, if he’s—is he _sincere_ , if all his… his awkward, earnest, endearing actions mean something to him, because I’m _not_ going to be some kind of—of _conquest_ , or something, to be had and cast aside when I’m not interesting or convenient or wanted anymore. It wouldn’t be a problem but he’s an _emperor_ and I’m just an alchemist without any kind of title, and. I need to know,” and she took another deep breath that shuddered a little, and she looked right at Alfor. “I need to know if my heart will be safe with him.”

Something about the way she asked that made his heart ache a little, and he reached out without hesitation to pull her into a tight embrace. Perhaps it was the memories from when he’d asked Naia if he might court her, still unsure of her response; perhaps it was seeing his friend so upset by the thought that someone she had feelings for might not be as serious about them as she was.

“I have known Zarkon almost as long as I’ve known you, and never have I known him to be flippant about the partners he’s taken. What he feels for you goes beyond even that, I think,” Alfor said. “If you gave him your heart, he would treat it like the priceless treasure it is.”

After a few moments, Honerva stepped back. She was calmer, and Alfor pointedly looked away so she could swipe at the corners of her eyes without feeling judged. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’m… glad to know that.”

“In any case, you’re not _just_ an alchemist. You’re the _best_ alchemist that Altea has, bar none, and anyone, ruler or otherwise, would be so lucky as to have your heart in their care.”

“That’s… thank you.”

“Of course.” He paused, then grinned at her. “So. _Vorhai_ , hm?”

Honerva blushed.

*

**D 08.1245.18  
** **T 0912.3483 ALT**

A: It’s not as bad as you think.  
Z: I find it difficult not to make the connection between my action and her absence at breakfast.  
A: I think that’s a spurious connection and you do too.  
A: She’ll be at dinner. Pull her aside and speak to her.

**T 0914.3452 ALT**

A: On another note, I _am_ enjoying seeing you, the cool and always-in-control emperor, flail around because you’ve never simply followed your heart before.  
Z: You are a terrible friend sometimes, Alfor.

*

_It’s not hiding if you’re just rehearsing what you want to say_ , Honerva told herself. The area between the columns and the wall was nearly deserted; most of the guests were either in the ballroom, having finished their dinner (where she’d been seated far down the table from Alfor and Zarkon and had spent the whole time trying to explain her research to a very elderly Nalquodian) or out in the gardens beyond. Part of her wished she could just go out there, stand under the light of the one moon currently above the horizon and let her current predicament work itself out, but the rest of her stubbornly refused to give in. She’d never gotten anywhere by _running away_. She had to take the risk.

Collecting a cup of nunvill for courage, Honerva squared her shoulders and wove through the crowd to where Zarkon stood with Alfor and Blaytz, but hung back as soon as she got close. He was smiling about something—small, his laugh not nearly as boisterous as either of his friends’, but seeing him thus made her stomach flip over pleasantly. She took a sip of her drink and made the last few steps, reaching out to touch his hand.

“Can I, uh, talk to you?” Honerva asked quietly, pointedly ignoring the way Naia’s eyebrows shot up or the grin on Blatyz’s face. “Somewhere _private_ ,” she added, sending a pointed look to the others.

He seemed to hesitate, but nodded. “Perhaps outside?”

“Excellent idea.”

As she walked away, Honerva glanced back over her shoulder to see Alfor, Naia, and Blaytz in some kind of deep discussion, their heads close together, and scowled. The number of people invested in her emotional state and romantic prospects was becoming far too large.

The garden was lit by floating lights, golden rather than the cool aqua of the palace’s interior lighting. It gave the place a much warmer ambiance, a much more _intimate_ one. It was cooler out here, though, and the sleeveless gown that had seemed so fitting inside now had her shivering a little.

Eventually they came to a path that circled a lake. Water fowl—now mostly all asleep, their heads tucked under their wings—were either out on the lake or hunkered down on the shores. There weren’t many other guests out here, and when she took a seat on one of the stone benches set back from the water, the only sounds she could hear were her own breathing and the scrape of Zarkon’s armor on the stone.

“I translated that word.”

“I thought you might have.”

“’ _Beloved_ ,’ Zarkon?”

“It was a foolish thing to say,” and the note of misery in his voice made her breath catch painfully in her throat. Had he been agonizing over this all day? Had her decision to retreat and consider the facts before her in light of her translation been the wrong one?

“Why do you think that?”

“I… have I not stepped over a line? I did not see you all day, so I assumed that I had—given offense, or something. I… that was not my intention, I only wanted to communicate my—ah, what is in my, uh—but it was foolish, we barely know each other, and yet...”

“...and yet?”

“...and yet I feel as though I have known you my whole life, and—and so much more—and the only word that encompassed all of it was, well.”

“ _Vorhai_.” Honerva reached out along the stone bench for his hand, and her heart stuttered in her chest when her fingers found his reaching out as well. When they slotted together, despite their difference in size, she got the same feeling as when all the parts of a mathematical equation worked out to an elegant end, the same sense of _rightness_. “I wasn’t offended by it. Just… caught a little off-guard.”

She saw his shoulders slump a little as the tension left them, and the constriction on her heart eased a little. “That is good,” Zarkon said. “I never wish to see you harmed, Honerva, or to be the cause of harm to you, and the thought that I had caused you pain was a knife in my heart.”

“That’s a bit dramatic.” She shifted over, leaning her head on his shoulder. “But I like it.”

They stayed out there a while longer. There wasn’t any need to talk, nor any desire; Honerva felt warm now, despite her dress, and Zarkon seemed to relax more. It was… comfortable, and sweet, and calming to her mind to just sit with him.

Eventually they went back in. She didn’t let go of Zarkon’s hand and he didn’t make her, and when they parted ways at her door at the end of the night, it took more willpower than she was proud of to pull her hand back. Something in her screamed to pull him in after her, to make it so they were never parted from now until the stars burned out around them. But she just kissed his cheek again (and maybe lingered a little, maybe pressed her lips to a spot closer to his mouth than before) and stepped away, her heart full of light.

*

**D 08.1245.19  
** **T 0025.2345 ALT**

A:Well?  
Z: You were right.  
A: Ah, such sweet words. I don’t hear them nearly enough from you.  
Z: You don’t warrant them often.  
A: There we go, the world’s righted again.

*

Things settled into a routine when they returned to Daibazaal. Honerva resumed her work on the rift, but every so often she came to the palace in the city to have dinner with him, or he’d go to the crater installation with some small gift and spend hours with her as she analyzed data or performed experiments. They talked, sometimes; more often they were silent, simply enjoying each other’s company. He liked the silences, the lack of need to fill air and time with words. All Honerva asked of him was his company, and he could very easily provide that.

But they did more; Honerva had said, once, that she wanted to see more of the planet she’d spent so much time on, so Zarkon took her to places of beauty, of historical significance, places he’d gone as a boy. The Great Falls of Norzoth, the wind-carved Pillars of The Ancients, standing sentinel over the birthplace of the Galran people. He took her to the caves where they’d been able to extract quintessence for the first time, the site where the first spaceworthy vehicles were launched. She delighted in each one, peppering him with questions as they climbed around these sites, diving into the palace archives for more information.

And every day, with every question or every moment spent together or every time he looked up to see her silhouetted against the red skies, having charged ahead on some hike, every time she looked at him with wonder in her eyes at some new information about _his_ planet, _his_ home, he fell a little more in love.

It was for this reason that Zarkon was now landing on the well-traveled pad outside the crater installation. He had a destination in mind for today—he’d woken up that morning and the idea had been fully fleshed, and it had been a great act of will to get through his appointments and necessary business before taking his fighter and flying out. The Empire didn’t stop just because its leader wanted to show the woman he adored one of his favorite places on his planet.

Honerva was deep in an argument with one of her scientists when he arrived on the main level, so he waited by one of the windows overlooking the rift chamber. It glowed, golden and innocuous. If he believed in fate, he might have said that it had been fated for the comet to strike this place, to create this rift, to bring Honerva to him. But it was only a series of wonderful coincidences.

Kova, who had been meowing loudly at Honerva’s elbow when Zarkon had arrived, now abandoned the effort to get his mistress to pay attention to him and trotted over to Zarkon, his tail held high. It was an unusual enough occurrence that Zarkon could not help but oblige the cat when he jumped on a nearby crate and bumped at his hand. Kova usually ignored Zarkon at best.

“Do you now approve of me, cat?” he asked. Kova made a noise that sounded like _mrrp_ and rolled onto his back, showing his belly. Zarkon pulled his hand away. “I’m wiser than that,” he told the cat. Kova made a disgusted noise this time and curled up on his side, facing away from Zarkon. When the angry voices from farther down the main level subsided, the cat put his head down on his paws and went to sleep.

“Is everything all right?” Zarkon asked. Honerva’s cheeks had high color on them, and her mouth was set in a thin line that softened as she approached him.

“Just… inflexible thinking. An overabundance of caution. It’s best if we all walk away.” She took his hand and looked up at him, and were her marks not nearly obscured by the angry flush lingering on her face still, he’d never have been able to tell she was so upset. “Your message said you were going to take me somewhere? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we reach it.”

Honerva raised her eyebrows, but followed him outside and climbed into his fighter. This was one of his favorite parts of any of these trips; Zarkon’s fighter was custom-designed and actually did have room for a passenger in a jump seat, but Honerva preferred to crouch close behind his seat, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, so she could watch the scenery go by. It had made him nervous at first, not because it was distracting (although it was, a little) but because Daibazaal’s winds made flight dangerous. But Honerva’s unwavering trust was its own kind of drug, and when she was comfortably situated behind him, he took off and flew south.

The trip was fairly quick, with the winds from the poles pushing them onward. He glanced back a few times to see Honerva looking out the window at the rolling red plains and the fantastic rock formations that grew more and more fantastic as they neared the Edge, her eyes wide, and wondered what it was like for someone who had not grown up with this. Altea certainly wasn’t like this, not at all.

Landing out here was tricky, and he had to do it a bit of a distance from where he wanted to take her because there were no safe landing spaces closer, but Zarkon managed it easily and touched Honerva’s hand on his shoulder when he was done.

“You’ll need this before you get out,” he said, handing her a small rebreather. “The atmosphere is thin here.”

She took it. “What about you?”

“Galra are better adapted for it. I’ll be all right.”

He led the way through a steep-walled canyon. The wind whistled around them, whipping dust and small pebbles into their legs, but when they emerged out of it onto a wide promontory the only thing left was the wind, pushing against their backs.

“ _Wow_ ,” Honerva breathed.

Here at the Edge, the atmosphere was incredibly thin. Galra were well-adapted to these conditions, like he’d said—though he wouldn’t have wanted to fight a pitched battle here, as some of the legendary heroes once had—but few still sought it out. Here it was darker, with very little barrier between the planet and the void of space, and spread out in the sky all around them were billions and billions of stars.

He watched Honerva, her eyes wide, turn in a circle to try and take it all in. In a belt that stretched across the sky the outer arms of the galaxy they were in shimmered with countless points of light, and above and below that were millions more. It was a clearer view than the city or even any other point on the planet afforded, and it was one of his favorite places on Daibazaal, and seeing Honerva so enthralled by it made his heart leap in his chest.

“This is...” she gaped for words, her mouth moving soundlessly under her rebreather mask. One hand pressed to her chest, the other ran through her wind-tossed hair, coming free of its bun to fly wildly around her face. She turned to him, clearly at a loss for words, and just gripped his hand tightly as she could.

“I came out to this place a lot when I was younger. It’s isolated, so I didn’t have to worry about the prying eyes of my family or the palace. I could think here, find clarity.” He kept hold of her hand as she paced, her eyes turned always upward, considering his next words. “I’ve never brought anyone else here,” he said at last. “I never wanted to share it.”

She turned, looking at him. The expression on her face wasn’t one he could read. “I’m the first one?”

“The _only_ one.”

She looked at him a long, long moment, and he realized she was _stretching_ , shifting to become somewhat closer to his height. Her hands left his and one rested on his shoulders, then continued up to curl around his neck. With the other she pulled her rebreather off, letting it dangle around her neck.

“What are you doing…?”

She was flushed again, whether from how close their faces were or how close her body was or how her palm cupped his cheek, pulling him close to her, pulling his face down until their lips met. Zarkon was too surprised to respond right away, his whole body feeling electrified as Honerva kissed him. When she pulled away, clearly embarrassed, clearly thinking she’d misread something, he stopped her, his arms wrapping around her waist.

“I’m sorry,” she began, but he stopped her. Now that he’d tasted her mouth, he wanted more, wanted to gorge himself on her until they were both satisfied. She tasted like dust, like the tang on the back of his tongue every time he entered the crater installation, like the sweet fruit she liked to have for lunch that came from Altea, and he drank it all down and wanted more. It felt good and right to hold her body against him, to feel her nails dig into the skin around the crest of plates over his head and neck as she clung to him, to taste her still on his mouth when they pulled apart. Honerva’s lips were parted, her lashes fluttering, and Zarkon helped her put the rebreather back on for a minute. She didn’t leave, though. She pressed closer, her fingers stroking now. It felt very, very good.

“You,” she said, still breathing a little heavily, “Take my breath away.”

He was about to respond when he saw her grinning at him, her eyes glittering with humor. “You’re as bad as Alfor,” he muttered, but closed his eyes again, resting his forehead against hers, unable to find the words to tell her just how he felt.

She seemed to know, though. She stroked his cheek with her fingers, a small smile on her face as she pulled her rebreather down again. “Then don’t give me the chance to speak,” she whispered, the wind carrying her words to his ears as her lips pressed against his again, and now the stars were behind his eyes, exploding.

*

**D 09.1245.04  
** **T 2349.0279 ALT**

A: So, I got a very interesting comm from Honerva’s family today.  
Z: Is that right?  
A: _Very_ interesting. They wanted to know if the emperor of the Galra Empire was _really_ asking to formally court their alchemist daughter. Seemed to think it might be some kind of prank.  
Z: They asked _you_ and didn’t simply ask me if I meant it?  
A: I think they wanted a second opinion. Also, they don’t know that you don’t joke.  
A: I assured them that you had nothing but the best intentions and most sincere affection for their daughter.  
A: Left out the part about the jokes.  
Z: ...thank you for that.

**T 2351.1460 ALT**

A: And congratulations, my friend.  
Z: I do have one question.  
Z: Did you know? When you asked her to come here, was this your intention?  
A: I thought you two might get on well, yes. But I wasn’t actively trying to influence either of you. Clearly I didn’t need to.  
A: I really am glad for both of you, you know. You both deserve this kind of joy.  
Z: Thank you. For your well-wishes, and for introducing us.  
A: May you both have many years of happiness ahead of you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I'm not saying life is crazy and sometimes you don't update for months, but,,.,
> 
> Also, Honerva's banquet dress in this chapter is based on [beautiful art](http://galratrash-mercenary-hacker.tumblr.com/post/165330086762/a-honerva-in-a-pretty-dress-she-is-so-beautiful) i saw on tumblr. Please go give the artist some props and reblogs, because holy heck is this gorgeous. 
> 
> Her dress at the festival in the beginning of the chapter is based on [this Zac Posen dress](http://www.sandipointe.com/im/dresses/zac-posen-dress-11.jpg) which is one I keep coming back to for the ladies I write, because I love it so mu c h.

Honerva smoothed her hands over the dress. The callouses she’d built up from all her lab work—burns and habits and all the rest, all marks on her skin—caught on the nap of the fabric and she let her hands fall. “And you’re _sure_ it’s all right.”

“You are the future wife of Emperor Zarkon,” the couturier said, finishing with the fastenings of the dress and stepping back to examine the whole picture. “It is right that you are dressed in a gown as befits your new status.”

“I’m not really a _gown_ person.”

“Well,” they said, stepping in to make adjustments to the way the hem fell at her feet, “Forgive me for saying it so bluntly, Lady Honerva, but you may have to become one.”

She turned to look at herself in the mirror. It _was_ a fine dress, though, starsilk the color of deep red wine and trimmed in gold and red—Galra colors, Zarkon’s colors. It was at once elating and unsettling, because Honerva had never wanted to be _possessed_ and this felt like it tread far too close to that, but she wanted everyone to know who she loved, wanted to scream it from the roof of the palace on Altea. Still, when she could finally slip out of the dress so the final adjustments could be made and pulled her tunic and leggings back on, she felt instantly more comfortable. Navigating this new paradigm was easier with Zarkon at her side—his presence tended to keep a lot of her attackers at bay, or at least obsequious enough to keep quiet. But Honerva belonged in her world of laboratories and logic, not a pit of vipers who were more than happy to take her discoveries and her knowledge but not happy at all to take _her_.

As she followed the servant assigned to her (who only nervously replied to her questions and often repeated that people of stature such as herself really ought not converse with the servant class), she could hear the sounds of the festival outside. It had begun the night before as soon as the sun had set; she’d stood at Zarkon’s side in the courtyard, in _another_ dress, and watched as he’d lit the bonfire that would burn until tomorrow at dawn. Tonight, though, was the night of _Vor’helion_ , the wind-slackening, and much like Stirill back on Altea, there would be a feast and, after the moment the winds ceased, an exchange of gifts. _That_ she wasn’t concerned about, and all the jaws that seemed to snap at her heels had seemed very far away indeed last night. Zarkon had kept a hand on her back the whole time, and the closeness to him made the rest of it bearable.

But for now she had the servant take her to the archives, to the workstation she favored when she was here and not at the crater. It had a secure connection to her computers, and once she’d logged in, she lost herself in her work. The archives were quiet, most of the archivists having been given leave to join the festivities, and nobody disturbed her, which was just how she liked it.

Hours later, around the time the servant had been told to collect her, Honerva felt a hand slide across her shoulders. “Yes, just a moment,” she said distractedly, studying a line of data from their latest probe attempt. It had detected… movement?

“I can go.”

_That_ voice didn’t belong to her assigned servant, and Honerva smiled, reaching up to lace her fingers with Zarkon’s. “Don’t you dare. I thought you were my…”

“...minder? No,I sent them away, though they seemed nervous that you wouldn’t be able to get ready in time.”

“Nonsense.” Honerva cut her connection to her crater workstation and rose, shifting her grip on Zarkon’s hand so they could walk more comfortably together. “My dress isn’t terribly fussy and I refused to let them paint me up like some kind of theater mime. I’ve never needed to do that before and I won’t have it done to me now.”

The palace was quiet as they left the archives together and made for the residential wing, where she’d been assigned a suite of rooms one corridor down from the imperial apartments. Far away, toward the more public areas, Honerva could hear the growing noise of gathering beings, but it was not yet, and she could lean her head on Zarkon’s arm and gather herself, mentally as much as physically, for Vor’helion.

“Thank you.”

“Mm?”

“For doing this for me, for the Galra. I know—going from the life of an alchemist to this life, it cannot be easy for you, and—and I will never ask that you give up the alchemy of course, your work is too important to all of us—but. Your presence, it… helps me too. I see things more clearly now.”

“Then it’s good you’ll always have me at your side.”

Zarkon pulled her up short and took her face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. Honerva had learned in the past few movements that this was one of the ways Galra had of showing affection, and slid her hands up behind his neck, fingertips dipping just under the black suit he wore under his armor. A low rumble, not unlike Kova’s purrs, vibrated through her palms.

She felt the same purr as they stood together on the balcony late that night, the air still around them for the first time since she’d arrived. In front of the same courtiers who had turned up their noses at her, Honerva slipped a hand along Zarkon’s side and pressed her mouth to his, feeling more than a little glee at the palpable discomfort of the others. Her world or not, Zarkon was _her_ love, _her_ partner in this. She hadn’t let her professors or her peers make her back down from research when she knew it was on the right track; she wouldn’t let _anyone_ tell her who she ought to be with.

“I have something for you,” she said, her thumbs brushing the hard, scaled edges of his cheeks. “A gift for _Vor’helion.”_

“A gift?”

“I read it was tradition. Gifts, presented after the moment the wind slackens.” She looked back over her shoulder, the air cool on her skin. This dress bared her back and the angular red marks that trailed across her shoulder blades and down her spine, and her body hummed with the sensation of his eyes on them. “Was I wrong?”

“No. But you aren’t expected—“

“No, I suppose I’m not.” Honerva went to the seats where they… well, _presided_ was the best word for it. Her assigned servant bowed as she approached, blushed when she _spoke_ to him, and handed over a slim case. “Plans,” she said, loud enough for her voice to carry, “For vast improvements to the ships of the Galra fleet. Based on use of quintessence from the rift, I’ve designed engines that are more powerful, able to run more cleanly on less fuel with no loss of power. If I am to be one of you,” and she pressed the case into Zarkon’s hands when he reached out eagerly, “I want to make sure you have the best my mind has to offer.”

When the dawn broke, the festival was over. The winds would be calm until _Vor’morthi_ , the wind-quickening, in about three phebes. An auspicious time for a wedding, she’d been told, as _Vor’morthi_ was characterized by new beginnings, a time of discovery as much as _Vor’helion_ was a time of transformation.

“That was masterfully done,” Zarkon said, covering her hand where it rested on his arm.

“The engine designs?” Honerva shrugged, but couldn’t help her smug grin. “I am very good at what I do.”

“It might not stop them from maligning you, but it will quiet them for a time.” He sighed, stopping outside her apartments, and Honerva let herself lean forward, the top of her head resting against his breastplate. It was flattening her hair, but judging by the number of times she’d had to push wisps of silver out of her eyes since the festival had gone into full swing, her hair was a lost cause. It didn’t seem to affect Zarkon’s desire to gently push her back so he could tilt her face up to his again, touching the marks on her cheeks. “They’ll come to respect you. I’ll make them.”

“If I don’t make them respect me _first_.” Honerva rose up on her toes, pressing her lips to his, still pleased that she could just _do_ that whenever she wanted now instead of agonizing about it, even if she couldn’t just invite him in like she wanted. “Good morning, Zarkon.”

It was fully light outside by the time she saw her dress put away in the wardrobe and crawled under the blankets. Kova, who had meowed furiously the whole time she’d undressed and brushed the kinks out of her hair, now jumped up onto the bed to join her, curling into the curve of her body. She stroked his fur absently as the servants engaged the light filters on the windows, and by the time the door hissed silently shut behind the last of them, she had slipped into dreams.

*

**D 10.1245.03**  
**T 0614.098 DBL**  


A: I expect you’re asleep by now, but how was _Vor’helion_? Honerva said she was quite excited to give you your gift.

 

**T 1256.236 DBL**  


Z: She managed to feed the gossips so much they had their fill, so really, she gave me _two_ gifts.  
Z: I grow weary of their hatred of her simply because she is Altean. She is the one I have chosen, that should be enough.  
A: You didn’t make the expected choice. There are always going to be those who find that unacceptable.  
Z: Without her I would not have made it at all  
A: Love gives us the strength to do many things we would have found impossible before, it’s true  
Z: I know this now

**T 1302.359 DBL**

Z: I have a few more preparations to make, then Honerva and I will be leaving for your coronation.  
A: I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’ll be here before all the madness  
A: Well, the madness has already begun  
A: Seriously, Zarkon, how did you manage not to strangle everyone around you when you were made Emperor because I’m not sure that _I_ can manage it  
A: [img_sent: squiwlrage]  
Z: It was a very near thing  
Z: Wait until you’re king before strangling them is my advice.  
A: You’re terrible.

*

_They were everywhere._

_The beings above had become more bold, sending more probes in. They’d destroyed them all, of course—it wasn’t yet time, the one who would become the bridge wasn’t quite ready yet, but the fact that they were beginning to delve into the matter told the creatures that their time was coming soon._

_They’d begun to sense something else, too, an energy both familiar and hated. It was known to them and they loathed it, for it was made of light and they of darkness, and while one lived the other could not. In every reality, when this light had made its way into the world, they had been driven out, the people of that reality saved. In every reality where the creatures had fought the light, they had lost. Their only option was to put a stop to it before it became part of the fabric of this reality. It was the only thing they knew how to do._

_Which meant that they reached out to their bridge, to the mind that presented such a logical and orderly path for them, and they brushed against it, using all the power they had in a reality they had not yet breached fully into just to communicate. It was beyond their ability to turn the lanes of thought from their current path, but the work was almost done for them already. All they had to do was—funnily enough—light the way. If they could do this enough times, if they could turn enough thoughts down the paths they needed, the bridge would open, and they could pass through before the light ever made it._

_It would be close. Even in their sequestered state between worlds, they could feel it waking up. It had found a bridge of its own and it was relentless, always pushing, always expanding. They were not so different, light and dark, at least not in this. But it had a head start, and the darkness was running out of time. They could not lose to the light again._

_In sleep, their bridge’s mind responded, thoughts aligning a little more to what they wanted. It wouldn’t be long now._

*

The finished ship loomed above him, all silvery metal and shadow. Alfor looked up into its eyes, two blank, staring panes of reinforced transplas, and wondered.

He was no closer to discerning _why_ he’d made some of the design choices he had, but he had to admit that seeing it complete—at least, seeing _one_ complete—the whole was more harmonious than the schematics made it seem. It made _sense_ when seen together, even if he couldn’t for the life of him remember why making it look like a _lion_ was a good idea.

The second ship was well underway. Indeed it seemed to be moving faster, but this one was also smaller, built more for speed than stability. The four legs were already completed, and the body was being fabricated in its cradle now. As with the first lion, the seams and welds had disappeared after a day or so, the metal seeming to flow together to make one piece. It was infinitely stronger that way, but it made Alfor nervous, because if he couldn’t tell how it had happened and knew it wasn’t part of their own fabrication process, then he had to go with the remaining option of it being what the _ore_ wanted, but that made even less sense than ships that looked like lions.

Either way, it meant something beyond himself was communicating with him, shaping thoughts and behavior and making its own will known through him, and that was _terrifying,_ but it was also _exhilarating_ , because no matter how they came about, he was sure that these ships would be able to do _amazing things_.

“Sir?”

Alfor tore his eyes away from the lion’s, facing Coran. His adviser had been running hither and yon for days, making sure that everything was ready for the ceremonies, that guests were comfortably and appropriately housed as they arrived, that everything would be _perfect_. He knew how much Alfor needed this, how much pain he still harbored at having to take his father’s place so suddenly and unexpectedly.

“What is it, Coran?” he asked gently.

“I’ve finished settling the Dalterion Belt and Rygnirath delegations. And more importantly, Emperor Zarkon’s flagship has just dropped out of hyperspace and is making orbital insertion—“ his comm chimed, and he glanced at the small readout that popped up above his wrist “—right now. I’ve chosen adjoining rooms for Emperor Zarkon and Honerva, given their current status.”

“They’ll appreciate that, I’m sure. Did you give their shuttle a landing vector?”

“Yes, to one of the palace’s landing pads, just like the others. I’ve directed them to settle in and come to the water gardens when they’re ready, so you can greet them personally. I know tonight...” he cleared his throat. “...tonight will be busy. Sir, are you _certain_ you want me to do it?”

“You’re the man I’ve trusted for decaphebes, Coran. You know me almost as well as Naia does.” Alfor put his hands on Coran’s shoulders. “You’re not just my adviser, you do know that, right? You are my _friend_. I want to recognize that.”

Coran’s eyes shone, and underneath his mustache, Alfor could see he was smiling. “I’m honored, Your Highness.”

“I wouldn’t want to have anyone else do it.” Alfor let his hands drop, heading for the stairs leading out of the fabrication bay. “I’d better go change, I suppose. The others might not mind my appearance, but I’m sure the other dignitaries will.”

By the time he’d bathed and changed into his armor, Naia had reappeared as well. She would be part of the ceremony tomorrow too, and though she didn’t need to keep vigil, she would need to make the walk from palace to temple with him, clad in the simple white garments that every ruler of Altea had worn for the occasion. But Naia had always known what she would be getting into, and though she looked a little weary from having to run about almost as much as Coran, entertaining and working her own kind of diplomacy, she sat up and smiled, reaching her arms out to him so he could pull her up and into a kiss.

“You clean up well,” she murmured, her fingers stroking his cheek marks. “I can’t even tell you were playing around in your lab all morning, _hiding_.”

“I wasn’t _hiding_.” Alfor leaned into her touch though. “But the next few days are going to be _very_ full, and...”

“...you’re already exhausted,” Naia finished. She smiled and kissed him again, gentle and sweet. “I know. But you needed it, going to see your cats.”

Naia was just as curious as he was about the design of the lions. Sometimes when he was down in the bay, he could see her up on the control deck, pacing along the edge as she looked out, her brow furrowed. Her status as sacred Altean had granted her access not just to higher levels of quintessence manipulation, but the studies that had been done on it, and the information coming out of Honerva’s rift work.

Naia had recently expressed worry about that, and while Alfor privately agreed that Honerva was perhaps taking _too_ many risks, he couldn’t deny that the prospect of unlimited clean energy and the ability to expand their knowledge of the universe was alluring. And some of what she’d discovered had helped him, or at least, _inspired him._ Half the time after getting a report from her or after talking through some theory, he’d head down to the lab, only to come back to himself in the fabrication bay, having tweaked some design element or made some minute and incomprehensible change. Most recently he’d come away with designs for five small handheld devices that seemed to go with the five ships. They were intertwined, though Alfor could not discern why, or what part of Honerva’s report had triggered the idea.

“The second one will be complete in even less time than the first,” he said. “But it’s smaller, as I said. I’m… interested in this one.”

Naia slipped her arm through his as they left their suite and made their way down to the levels of the palace meant for entertaining. “Interested how?”

“I don’t know, exactly. I just want to see it through myself, moreso than the other one.”

“Do you want me to come have a look at it?”

“Perhaps, when we’ve got time. I could use your particular expertise.”

The others were already on the patio, seated around on the plush lounges. They all rose to greet him and Naia, though; Trigel and her mate, Gyrgan and his wife, and wonderful effusive Blaytz. Zarkon and Honerva came in as Naia was laughingly pulling her hand away from Blaytz’s sloppy kisses.

“My congratulations, Alfor,” Zarkon said solemnly as they clasped forearms. “You’re more than ready.”

“Thank you.” Alfor paused, then pulled their arms in, wrapping his arm as high up around his friend’s shoulders as he could reach, suddenly overcome with emotion at how wonderful his friends were. “I’m glad you’re here. And Honerva, too! I’m… I’m glad all of you are here. All my friends.”

“Has he already been drinking?” Zarkon asked. Naia snorted, and when Alfor pulled away to embrace Honerva too, _she_ was clearly trying not to laugh.

“You should have seen his face when you did that,” she murmured as they pulled apart again, rubbing at the corners of her eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“Just a little tired. It was early morning when we left, I’m not quite awake yet.”

“Well, maybe I _won’t_ give you any nunvill then—“

“Don’t you _dare_ hold out on me, Alfor.”

He didn’t; serving one’s friends at this particular kind of gathering, the day before his coronation, was a tradition that Alfor’s predecessors had all taken part in. Honerva took hers as she sat next to her betrothed, tucking a leg under herself and leaning so their shoulders pressed together. Their small fingers were linked together, he saw, and when he sat himself he took Naia’s hand and kissed the knuckles. Seeing two of his closest friends happy with each other made the occasion all the sweeter.

“You’ve really worked on him,” Alfor murmured when he and Honerva ran into each other later that night, at the official reception. She’d changed from her tunic and leggings into a dress, and apart from himself and Naia, she and Zarkon were clearly the most interesting people in the room. An emperor—especially one with a reputation for rigidity like Zarkon—breaking with all expectations and publicly courting an alchemist with no title or bloodline tended to do that. “He’s happier now than I’ve ever seen him.”

“I don’t really feel like I’ve done anything.” Honerva shrugged, sipping her nunvill, but she was smiling fondly at Zarkon from across the room. Alfor saw their eyes meet, the way her expression softened just a bit, the way he seemed to straighten up and puff out his chest. “All the attention is… off-putting, though. I kind of miss the semi-anonymity I had, and I miss not feeling like I’m dodging blaster bolts every time I go into a room with Zarkon.”

“That’ll settle down eventually, I’m sure. After the wedding, when they realize it’s done and there’s no stopping it now.”

“It had better. But I’m tired of talking about myself. How’s work going on your ships?"

“The second one’s almost halfway done.”

“I don’t know if I’ll get a chance to look at them while we’re here, but...”

“I’ll see what I can do. You know I always appreciate your input, Honerva, even if we disagree on something.”

“I know.”

“Good. But now...” he glanced out the window, to the sun half-hidden by the horizon. “I’d best go get ready for my vigil.”

The whole assembly raised their cups to him as he left, escorted by Naia and Coran first to a small antechamber where he could change into the white tunic and leggings he would wear for the night, and then to the double doors, ornately carved and inlaid with glow panels and gold scrollwork. They were ancient, having been moved into the palace from the previous residence of Altean rulers, added to and refined over the thousands of decaphebes since the founding. Alfor had stood before them many times, but now he would go through them a prince, and emerge a king.

He made his goodbyes to Naia; she would meet him at the palace gates in the morning, clad in her own spotless white dress. But this was one place she could not go, and when she walked away to try and get some rest, Alfor found he could not move from the spot, staring at the spot on the doors worn smooth by the knocks of those who had been destined to go through them.

“Coran?” he said quietly, and felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Is it wrong to be afraid?”

Coran was silent, until Alfor felt the slow circular rub of his thumb through the simple woven fabric. “I don’t think so, sir. I think it means you are ready. So go, become who you are meant to be.”

Alfor put his hand over Coran’s, briefly, and hoped it was enough to communicate just how grateful he was when words were failing him. Then he stepped forward and knocked once, twice, thrice. At the third knock, some strange mechanism rumbled to life and the doors swung inward, revealing a dark room beyond.

In his mind, Alfor heard his father’s voice. _Chin up and back straight, that’s how you meet the world._

With his chin up and his back straight, Alfor walked inside, and the doors rumbled shut behind him.

*

Zarkon awoke the next morning to filmy morning light and the feeling of a warm body sliding into bed with him, pressing against his back. It was cool in his bedroom still, and a thousand protests about propriety died unspoken as he took Honerva’s hand in his. For how slender it was, her grip was strong. There were worse ways to be woken up.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he said, half into his pillow. Honerva made a noise behind him, and he felt her lips press to the thin strip of skin between the plates that crested his head and the ones that trailed down his spine, just visible above the neck of his sleeping tunic. He couldn’t suppress the shiver, or the low rumbling purr.

“It was cold in my room.”

“It’s cold in here, too.”

“But _you’re_ in here, so it’s better.” Honerva pressed her lips to the same place. “I don’t think we can shock anyone on Daibazaal any more than we already have just by being seen in public together. What we do in private isn’t anyone else’s business.”

Her fingers pulled out of his hand, slotting into the spaces between his ribs. Zarkon liked her fingers, their scars and callouses, the feel of them on his skin. They were perfect.

“Besides,” she continued, her lips brushing the exposed skin behind his ear as she spoke, “We’re not _on_ Daibazaal.”

She shifted back as he rolled onto his back. In the misty light coming through the window, her eyes were the same liquid gold as they had been that one day in the crater installation, half-hidden behind silver lashes. “That’s true,” Zarkon said, urging her down even though he didn’t need to, for she came willingly, her fingers digging into his side for balance. She was warm where she pressed against him, her mouth was hot on his, hair falling around them to block out the world.

The marks on her body felt different than the rest of her skin, he realized as he trailed the tip of a clawed finger over the lines on her back. Zarkon knew what it meant to touch these, but when Honerva shivered and dug her fingers into his skin, when she made that noise that was something between a moan and a sigh, he didn’t _want_ to stop.

“Do that again,” Honerva whispered, and Zarkon, Emperor of the Galra, fearsome warrior, did as she asked, would do _anything_ she asked if it meant she looked at him like she was now for the rest of eternity. When his fingers made their next pass up the inverted chevrons marking every one of her vertebrae, she arched under it, sliding a leg over his hips, and the sensation of her settling her weight on top of him was almost too much for what control he had left, and that was swept away when she dug her fingers in at the edges of the plates tracking down the back of his neck.

Luckily—or unluckily, he couldn’t be sure—the door chimed, just when she’d pulled away from his mouth at last and gripped the rucked-up hem of her nightshift to pull it off. Honerva stilled above him, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes, quickly pushed down. She sighed and dropped to his other side, shoving her face into the pillows as Zarkon sat up. “Yes?”

It was one of the palace servants, who luckily had the presence of mind to use the door comm rather than enter. “You asked to be awakened at this hour, Your Majesty. We’ve brought your breakfast to the table here, and the Lady Honerva’s with it. Shall we… would you like us to wake her, Your Majesty?”

Beside him, he heard a muffled scream. Honerva was trying to fold the pillow around her head, it seemed. He gave her a concerned look. “No need, I’ll get the Lady Honerva out of bed myself. Return in an hour to help us prepare for the day.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

The comm cut off, and Zarkon put a hand on Honerva’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Honerva lifted her head up out of the pillow, sitting up. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Or I will be.”

She didn’t look happy though, so Zarkon reached out and pulled her in for a long kiss, his hand in her hair. When they pulled apart, Honerva rested her forehead against his, sighing as he scraped his claws over her scalp.

“It was a well-executed plan,” he said. “Neither of us accounted for the interruption.”

“ _You_ asked for it.”

“It’s difficult to remember things like that when I have you here with me.”

She smiled at that, her fingers brushing his jaw, his cheek. “Talking sweetly to me will get you anywhere you like.”

It was pleasant to eat with her, their hands entwined when they could be, her feet slipping forward against his under the table. The slide of her skin _did_ make Zarkon wonder what it would have been like, if they hadn’t been interrupted. She made him want to break the rules and damn the consequences.

_Do you know_ , he wondered, smiling at her when she looked up for a moment, her gold eyes bright in the morning light. _Do you know what I would do for you, my love?_

The ceremony was not held in the palace but at the edge of Alteeai, a place with slabs of white stone for a floor and tall, fluted columns rising up with no roof, leaving them open to the sky. This too was an old site, sacred to the old ways that Alteans had once practiced, and they were quiet once they settled into their seats. Honerva shivered a little—it was still cool, and they’d been informed in hushed tones that Alfor and Naia had only just begun the long ceremonial walk to the site. It would be a while yet. He draped the edge of his cape over her shoulders, and she gave him a grateful look.

“Always taking care of me.”

“I did tell you that I would provide anything you required when we met.”

“And then you ran away.” But she was smiling again, and her hand found its way into his.

Trigel, sitting on his other side and watching this whole exchange out of the corner of her eye, snorted. “Never thought I’d see the day,” she murmured when Zarkon gave her a look. With a smile, Trigel slipped her hand into her wife’s.

He knew when it was time; the news traveled up to them. The palace guards came first, clad in white and shining gold, lining the aisle between the seats. Preceded by an honor guard, and with six more marching behind them, Alfor and Naia came up to where three sacred Alteans had arrayed themselves before what could only had been an altar, once. It was white, shot through with cyan, and when they stood Honerva nudged his arm.

“The blue is crystallized quintessence,” she whispered. “It—well, you’ll see. I wasn’t born yet when Althon was coronated, but I’ve read about the ceremony.”

Alfor knelt before the three Alteans, his head bowed. Through the white of his clothing, even in the morning light, Zarkon could see that his markings were glowing—and the veins of crystal in the altar were responding, pulsing bright as the sun rose higher.

“Who comes before us?” the Altean in the center—a woman with flowing white hair and violet markings—asked. Her voice was clear and loud, carrying across the assembled guests.

Alfor’s voice was rough, but strong. “I, Alfor of Altea, come before you.”

The Altean on the left, a man with close-cropped white hair and marks a deep forest green, spoke now. “Why have you come here, Alfor of Altea?”

“I have come for what is mine.”

The third now, a man with long white hair and coral-colored markings, spoke. “And why should we give it to you, Alfor of Altea? By what right have you come?”

“I come by right of deed, freely performed in service of my people and for the good of all,” Alfor said, and the crystals in the altar seemed to pulse in time with his marks now. “And I come by right of quintessence, passed from my father, and my father’s father, and my father’s father’s mother, back to the day of the Founding.”

He pressed his palm to the altar, bowing his head low as it began to glow. The crystal pulsed and then held steady now, the air seeming to vibrate excitedly. Looking at Alfor, Zarkon could see him shaking—just a little, only given away because he knew what to look for.

“Alfor, son of Althon, son of Alina,” the Altean with violet marks said. “Your deeds are many, and they are good. Your quintessence is known, and it is good.”

“In this place, on the day of the Founding, the first sacred Altean bound her quintessence to the stones here. We see it before us every day, in the crystal of the altar, in the crystals on our ships.” The man with the green marks had a voice that was low but carried, and though he was surely missing some of the effect—Trigel, beside him, also looked interested but not nearly as engaged as the Alteans around them. Beside him, he felt Honerva stir. “Allura, the first sacred Altean, the first queen, led her people out of the darkness and into the light. She learned the use of quintessence and taught it to her people; she kept them safe, even at the expense of her own life. Her deeds were many, and good. Her quintessence was known, and good.”

“To serve Altea is to serve light,” the man with the coral markings said, picking up the thread. “It is a heavy burden to bear. Many before you have broken under it.”

“I will not break.”

“Do you swear it?”

“I swear it.” Alfor’s palm pressed to the stone again, and the cyan crystals began to glow brighter, as did his markings. Beside and behind him, still standing, Naia’s were as well, the glow of her curved pink marks faintly visible through her dress.

“Then swear the oath, as Allura so swore.”

As Alfor spoke words that had been old when his father’s mother was born, Zarkon felt Honerva’s hand clench on his, and looked over at her. She was enraptured, as were all the Alteans; her lips parted, her eyes wide. Clearly, though the air felt charged even to him, she was feeling something that he could not. When Alfor was done, he seemed to freeze for a moment, eyes going wide as well, before he looked up at the Altean woman in the middle. She smiled mysteriously at him.

“Your oath has been heard, and it is good,” she said. “Do you swear to keep your oath by your deeds, Alfor of Altea?”

“I swear it.”

The man on the left asked again, “Do you swear to keep your oath by your life, Alfor of Altea?”

“I swear it.”

The man on the right asked a third time, challenging. “Do you swear to keep your oath by your death, Alfor of Altea?”

Without hesitation, Alfor replied, “I swear it.”

“Then be anointed.”

Light exploded outward from the altar, and a gasp went through the assembly as it enveloped Alfor and the three sacred Alteans before him. Every inch of his skin seemed electrified, and only Honerva’s hand in his kept him grounded. She shook beside him now too, and Zarkon waited until the afterimage of the light had cleared from his eyes before he tightened his fingers on hers, a silent question. She glanced up at him, and though her eyes were huge, she returned the gesture.

When the light had dissipated (the altar still glowed but it was reduced, as though all its power had been expended for now), the center sacred Altean reached out, pressing her palm to Alfor’s head.

“Rise now, Alfor, King of Altea, whom we call Star-Shaper and Light-Bringer,” she said. “May your reign be blessed.”

Alfor got to his feet, no longer shaking. He seemed—taller, stood straighter, and when he turned to face the assembled guests there was something different about him, a strange and subtle energy that hadn’t been there before, a new light in his eyes.

Naia knelt before him now, her skirts arranged gracefully around her, and this time Alfor took her oaths, touched the stone on her circlet and made it pulse bright and hot with energy.

“Naia, daughter of Natheon, my heart and yours are one heart, my quintessence and yours are entwined forever,” Alfor said, his voice gentle. “I accept your oaths and call you Naia, Queen of Altea, Star-Namer and Light-Bringer. Rise and stand beside me, where you belong.” Those last three words were said softly, and though it probably wasn’t part of the ceremony, Zarkon saw Alfor take his wife’s hand in his and give her a fond smile.

The sacred Alteans held out their hands, palms up, and Alfor and Naia put theirs out as well. All five began to glow, sparks of blue-white light dancing up out of them and swirling into the sky. At their feet, the stones began to glow too, and Zarkon looked down to see veins of crystal that had been hidden before now responding to the quintessence of the people before them, glowing through the stone that encased them. Honerva’s cheek marks were glowing in response, a bright crimson. When Alfor and Naia recessed down the center aisle, still glowing, Honerva bowed low.

She was quiet on the ride back in their land speeder, lost in thought. Zarkon touched her hand.

“What is it?”

“It’s...” Honerva’s brow furrowed—an expression he knew well, one that meant the wheels were turning in her mind, chewing on some new problem or bit of information she hadn’t thought of or had before. “I’ve never felt something like that, that raw power of quintessence. Maybe Naia isn’t _completely_ wrong about it. I don’t like calling it _magic_ , but… I don’t know how to describe what I felt.”

She still seemed pensive as they went back to their rooms to change for the banquet and the reception after, but by the time they reemerged she had either recovered or resolved to set it aside for the moment. She looked beautiful, too, her dress shades of pink and red and coral, all blending harmoniously. It left her shoulders exposed, too, and under the bits of ornamentation at her neckline he could see her marks, vivid crimson tracing her collarbones and continuing up over her shoulders and down her back, hidden by the flowing cape.

Honerva caught his eye and raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“You look beautiful,” he said simply, and held out his arm. She took it, her fingers pressing into his elbow between the plates of his armor, pulling him down to press their foreheads together before they got in the lift to go down to the banquet. She seemed unsettled, her free hand playing restlessly with her skirts, and Zarkon took it in his own hand to still it.

“But you don’t need these fine things to be beautiful,” he said—slowly, for words were not his strong suit—as he breathed in the air she breathed too. “You were lovely the first time I saw you.”

Her fingers fluttered against his palm, then stilled. “Where’s this coming from,” she whispered, but she didn’t seem to expect an answer, and Zarkon had none, really.

Everyone was still clustered around the walls in small groups, but as they descended the small flight of stairs leading into the banquet hall, Zarkon watched as eyes widened, heads turned. Honerva must have noticed too, because she was holding on to him more tightly than she needed to, a line between her brows. _He_ was used to having eyes follow him everywhere here—he was much taller than the average Altean, clad in different colors, had different-colored skin—but Honerva was used to passing mostly unremarked-upon. This nervousness wouldn’t do, so when they had made it to floor level, he leaned over.

“Everyone finally sees you the way I see you,” he told her, and something in his voice must have worked, because he felt her fingers relax, felt her press in against his side. Her voice was soft and gentle when she spoke, moreso than he’d ever heard it.

“Thank you, Zarkon.”

The banquet went into the night and the dancing went even longer. Dancing with Honerva was… it was a feeling more exhilarating to him than fighting, than flying. They were neither of them very _good_ at dancing, but Honerva’s enjoyment of it was infectious, and it was past midnight by the time they decided to leave. Most of the guests had filtered away by then; Blaytz still danced with a blushing Dalteri man, and Gyrgan was off in a corner, drinking with a group of assorted others, but Trigel had turned in with her mate, and when Zarkon and Honerva wandered over to where Alfor and Naia sat, he caught Naia stifling a yawn. Alfor put a hand briefly on his wife’s back as he reached out, clasping forearms with Zarkon and giving Honerva a tired but happy smile as she bowed deeply again.

“You know you don’t have to do that with us,” he said, reaching out to embrace her. “You’re—“

“As good as family. I know, Your Majesty.”

“And you can just call me Alfor.”

Honerva leaned on him tiredly when she slid out of the embrace, but Zarkon could see her eyes glittering. “You’ll have to remind me of that again next time, Your Majesty.”

“I’m glad you came, my friends.” Alfor stepped back, putting an arm solicitously around Naia’s waist again. “I’m glad I got to share this with you.”

Honerva still seemed to be glowing, the moonlight catching in her hair and turning the vivid colors of her dress dreamy and silvered as they walked back to their suite of rooms. All the Alteans had seemed to glow in some way Zarkon couldn’t understand, as though the quintessence of their ruler had somehow been shared with them, too. But on her… it made her seem ethereal, wreathed in an unknowable energy. Even her movements were more fluid, he’d felt it dancing with her, and just by being at her side he felt—stronger. Better.

_She_ is _powerful_ , he thought, _And she is mine_.

When they reached their suite Honerva paused, her hand hovering just above the door controls as she turned to look back at him, some question on her lips. Whatever it was, she set it aside, because she simply stood up on tiptoe to kiss him, her thumb rubbing along the line of his cheekbone. There was heat there in her touch, in the way she seemed to hold herself in check. Her hand shook slightly as she touched his cheek and he covered it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Honerva replied, too quickly.

“Do you need something?”

She looked up at him and her eyes were dark, almost amber instead of their usual brighter gold, and for a moment her fingers tightened on his, and like a bolt of lightning it hit him, what she wanted— _needed—_ to do with the energy that had been contained in her all day. And part of him screamed at her to ask, because if she asked, he would not be able to tell her no.

But Honerva seemed to pull back, her fingers loosening, her eyes flickering shut for a moment before she kissed him again, more chastely. “Goodnight, my love,” she murmured against his lips, and disappeared into her room. His bed felt strangely empty that night, and though he was exhausted, Zarkon found it took a long time to get to sleep.

*

**D 10.1245.06  
T 1702.234 DBL**

 

Z: In any case, we’ve landed safely.  
A: That’s good to hear. But I’m still right about those sweets from the Jorath system, and just because you Galra have absolutely no concept of a sweet tooth on Daibazaal is no reason to get snippy about it.  
Z: Even Honerva backed you. That wounds me.  
A: Because she has _sense_.

**T 1705.528 DBL**

A: Also, can you tell her to check her comm? I’ve got some questions about the lions and our quintessence experiments.  
Z: I will do so.  
Z: She’s been rather upset since we landed. I think perhaps things with her team are… tense.  
A: I’ve gotten a few messages expressing concern about how she’s pushing forward with things, but I don’t think it’s anything to be worried about. It’s just Honerva being Honerva.  
A: But maybe keep an eye on her.  
Z: You have no need to worry about that.

*

It was off-putting being out at the crater without the constant howl of the wind. Even with the thickness of the installation walls it had always been audible, a faint noise in the background that she’d come to appreciate for its ability to help her filter out the noise. The world could be a loud place, and Honerva had not always had the best ways of coping with it.

It didn’t help that ever since the coronation there had been some… _something_ under her skin, rolling back and forth like waves, ebbing sometimes but surging high whenever she was around Zarkon. She had an idea—there were well-documented rises in birth rates in the year or so following a coronation on Altea, something she had _not_ told her husband-to-be about, and in any case the slow-release hormonal implant in her arm prevented pregnancy thank the _stars—_ but it was not exactly proper on Daibazaal, and she respected her beloved’s need for rules and structure too much to ask it of him, but… she _wanted_ , and she could not deny that. She could only do so much on her own.

The dreams hadn’t helped, the ones where a voice whispered to her out of the darkness. Perhaps it was some side effect of the quintessence surge she’d experienced at Alfor’s coronation, perhaps it was her proximity to such a huge source of it, but her dreams had been vivid and unsettling as of late, but she’d always woken up feeling more driven, pulled to her work. She never woke up feeling refreshed after these dreams, but she always had enough energy to get up, go to the crater, and work.

But that had been made more difficult lately, and part of the reason for that was standing in front of her in the containment lab where they worked with the quintessence samples taken from the rift itself. Marmora, for all his genius, had been getting on her nerves since she’d come back from Altea with her mind whirring and full of new theories and ideas and experiments. He was too cautious, unwilling to take risks she saw as necessary to advance their understanding of the rift and its implications for their concept of the multiverse.

“I don’t understand why you’re so _afraid_ of it.” Honerva made an expansive gesture with one arm, her fingers briefly lit by the constant golden light of the rift. “I’m not proposing we send a _person_ in, I never would—just a _signal_ , just to see if there’s something in there that’s intelligent enough to respond.”

“And I think that we don’t want to attract attention from anything that can survive in a place of pure quintessence.” Marmora crossed his arms, his eyes nervously tracking out to the rift and back. “ _If_ there’s something alive in there and _if_ we got its attention, who’s to say it wouldn’t come out and kill us all?”

“And who’s to say it wouldn’t be cooperative?”

“When things become that powerful they rarely are.”

“What do _you_ know about it?”

“What do _you_ know?”

He had a point—she wasn’t Empress yet, and even when she was, Honerva wasn’t sure how much of the day-to-day running of the empire she’d even be privy to. Zarkon seemed to have it in hand and she was loath to take any of it away from him, any more than she wanted to become a social figure who hosted tea parties and abandoned all scientific pursuits. But she refused to back down from this, and tilted her chin up defiantly. “I know that if we can understand this rift and all its secrets, we could unlock— _everything_ , Marmora. Even just studying these samples—we’ve learned so _much_ , so much about the regenerative properties of quintessence, I mean, your own experiences, it’s killed cells that have begun dividing out of control, a _single drop_ has been able to clean an entire container of soil that we’d thought too poisoned to grow anything and the plants there are _huge_ now, we could terraform _dead planets_ and create places to live—“

“We could also disrupt the balance of life in the universe—weblums _need_ dead planets to live, and I _know_ Altea uses the scaultrite the weblums produce for its teludavs—“

“We could enhance our ships to go farther, push our exploration deeper and deeper, there are whole _galaxies_ we haven’t explored yet—“

“And what would be the benefit of having an empire so big you can’t see it all in one lifetime? Not even Zarkon—and he is arguably the greatest Emperor that the Galra have seen since the founding—could control that much territory.”

“I would rather be the one to decide that, Marmora.”

Immediately the scientist spun and bowed low, his ears pinned back as Zarkon entered the lab. Honerva didn’t change her posture, although she couldn’t help leaning into the touch when Zarkon reached out and brushed the back of her arm with his fingers.

“Is everything all right?”

His proximity made that tide within her surge again, mingling with the anger she’d felt at Marmora’s argument to create something stronger. Honerva crossed her legs at the ankles, leaning against the lab bench behind her as Marmora straightened, looking between the two of them uncertainly. “We were just having a disagreement about the direction the rift project should take.”

“Is that right.” Zarkon’s fingers stilled on the back of her arm, five points of pressure that felt cool even through her tunic. “Marmora, is Honerva not the one in charge here?”

“She is, sire.” There was a note of hesitancy in the scientist’s voice, and Zarkon made a twirling gesture with his free hand, indicating Marmora should continue. “...but what she proposes is—I feel it’s too dangerous a step to take.”

“I see.” Zarkon rubbed his thumb along her arm again. “What is it you’re proposing, Honerva?”

“Well—“ she reached out, calling up screens to float between the three of them. “We’ve had sensors monitoring the energy of the rift since day one, yes? Not long ago, there was a fluctuation.”

“It could have been anything,” Marmora interjected. “ _Nothing_ holds steady forever, not even a rift between realities. Variation is normal and expected.”

“This was outside the normal variations we’ve come to see from the rift, though.” Honerva tapped a few of the display buttons and called up the reading in question, playing the loop for them a few times. “I’ve had it analyzed by some acoustics experts back on Altea.”

“It was a sound?”

“Yes—too low for us to hear, usually, but loud, and powerful. I feel it’s been made by some kind of entity that lives within the rift.”

“It’s a preposterous idea,” Marmora said. “There’s no indication that it’s anything of the sort, and if it was, something that’s living in such a hostile environment _has_ to be not only powerful but very dangerous—“

“You don’t _know—“_

“It’s a reasonable guess!”

Zarkon held up a hand. “What is it you’re proposing?” he asked her. Honerva shut down the screens, crossing her arms now too.

“I want to just send signals into the rift. _Something,_ nothing complex. Like a knock at the door.”

“But is this a door we want to open?”

“I think it’s worth the risk. It wouldn’t involve anyone going into the rift—just a broadcast signal beamed into the rift, to see if something responds.”

“It seems innocuous enough, Marmora.”

Now the Galra scientist looked uncomfortable. “I’m not the only one to have expressed concern about this idea. Some of the Altean scientists have as well… and King Alfor.”

Something—that hot anger again—swelled in Honerva’s chest, and she straightened, stepping forward. “Alfor hasn’t said anything to me about it. He shouldn’t even _know_ about it.”

“I told him.”

“What? _Why?”_

“Because what you’re proposing—it’s too much, Honerva, it’s dangerous and reckless. He thinks so too.”

“He hasn’t said any of this to _me_ , and we’ve been friends for _decaphebes.”_

Marmora spread his hands. “He just seemed concerned in his message.”

“I would like to see this message,” Zarkon cut in. He put a hand on her shoulder, and pointed at Marmora. “You will see that it reaches me, and _I_ will make the final decision as to what is done on my planet and in my Empire. This is not sovereign Altean territory, after all.”

Marmora’s throat worked for a moment, but he bowed low again. “As you wish, sire.”

Zarkon urged her forward, and glancing at the wall chrono, Honerva realized with a jolt that it was nearly time for dinner. She didn’t always noticed the passage of the hours when she worked, so consuming and fascinating were the things that she was working on. The anger still roiled within her, but it was calmed by his presence, overtaken by the rising heat in her core. He paused them both in the doorway.

“And Marmora? She is _Lady_ Honerva now. You will show her the proper respect, regardless of what you think of her ideas.”

She shouldn’t have, but Honerva took a kind of perverse pleasure in seeing the expression on Marmora’s face as he replied, “Of course, sire. My apologies, Lady Honerva.”

On the flight back to the palace they were quiet, but once they were in the palace, they retreated to his offices and Zarkon let her rant, listening to her ire rise and fall as she found new pits of it to fall into. When she had slowed, he reached out a hand and drew her to him. Even seated, he was shoulder height to her. Honerva stroked along the line of one of his ears and felt a purr begin somewhere deep in his chest, so she did it again and his fingers tightened on her hip and hand. When her hand settled at the nape of his neck, he shifted.

“I will speak with Alfor about these things he said to Marmora,” he said quietly. “I’m certain it was only out of concern for your well-being.”

“I don’t need his _concern_.” Honerva sighed, resting her chin atop his head. “I wish he’d simply said something to me directly about it.”

“I do to. It troubles me that he did not, especially as I know he trusts your research and your mind.” The purring sensation grew when Honerva stroked the skin around the edges of his head plates. “Do not let it trouble you too much. Daibazaal is my domain, and regardless of what Alfor says, ultimately, it is up to me. And I say that nothing should hold you back from anything you want to know.”

Honerva smiled, pressing her lips to the top of his head. “You are too good to me, _vorhai_.”

She felt his fingers give her hip and hand a squeeze at the term of endearment. “Not so. I only give you what is your due.”

The anger receded, but Honerva still felt on edge, like her body was not enough to contain what was within her, and was for once quiet all through dinner rather than rendering her own opinions on the matters that Zarkon’s generals and advisers brought to him—something she’d taken to doing, trying to feel more like she belonged here. They were six movements away from their wedding and the beginning of _Vor’morthi_ , and Honerva was determined to make everyone in any position of power on this planet realize that she was not to be trifled with.

Zarkon said nothing to her about it, but she caught him glancing over at her often, and when he could, his fingers brushed the back of her hand. He meant them reassuringly, but every time their skin touched a fresh surge of heat traveled through her body, that power that had filled her in that open-air shrine threatening to boil over. She wanted to fight, wanted to yell, wanted to throw all Galra rules of propriety into vacuum and make Zarkon press her against a wall and wreck her. Anything to stop the way she felt too big for her skin, like there was something new inside her that needed to be released, some consciousness not her own.

He felt it, she knew, because he responded to the heat in her touches, because every time they had to break apart from their embraces before going to their separate bedchambers he moved a little more reluctantly. For one who ran cool, Zarkon responded readily to the heat she put out, and and every time he did, it only stoked what she felt.

Between this and the strange dreams and the rift, Honerva felt that she would have to find an outlet soon or go mad, and she wasn’t sure which one it would be.

That night, when she’d finally been able to pull herself away from her beloved’s hands and his mouth and the way he looked at her like she held the answers to all his questions, Honerva found herself restlessly pacing her bedchamber. The sheets were tossed to the foot of the bed, and at some point Kova had stalked off to curl up somewhere else, disturbed by her constant movement.

She went to the window, looking outside and up to the stars. Her room faced the wrong direction to see Altea, but the bulk of the city was behind them, and so this direction was dark. Space was something that made sense to her; physics dictated the movement of objects in the skies, the push-pull of gravity and the spin of the stars, and the slow rotation of their galaxy on its center. Usually it was enough to calm her down—certainly it had helped in her early days when _nobody_ had thought her work anything more than utter madness—but it did nothing now except make her more aware of how unsettled she was, how off-center, and how she knew that the solution to her problem was in reach. They’d nearly given in earlier…

Something in Honerva snapped, finally. Why deny herself? Why deny _them_? She always pushed forward even when others said it was too dangerous, too unrealistic, unorthodox. Why should she stop now?

Zarkon, it seemed, had not been able to sleep either. When she pressed the chime on his door, he opened it far too quickly to have been woken from sleep. Behind him, she saw the sheets on the bed tossed just like hers were.

_We go together_ , she thought, and met his eyes. Usually the yellow made them look almost luminous, but now they were deep and dark, and Honerva felt something in her pulled to them. To _him_. Inexorable, like the spin of stars and galaxies and the pull of black holes.

“Invite me in,” she whispered.

Wordlessly, Zarkon stepped aside, and she stepped in, and the door shut behind them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a large part of this in like a day and a half because I felt The Inspiration. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Please note in the first section there's mention of and then implied sex, but it's pretty vague and can probably be ignored safely if need be.

Most days, a designated servant would come into Zarkon’s bedchamber and awaken him before dawn. He would rise, eat, attend weapons training with the palace’s war-master (it would never do to rest on his own accolades, no matter how great), and after fastidiously cleaning up, the rest of his day would be taken up by the business of the Empire.

This morning, Zarkon woke naturally and slowly. It was still early, if the filmy light coming in was any indication, but certainly later than normal. For a moment he could not think of why he might change his routine—then he remembered, and rolled over.

Honerva was stretched out on her side, still asleep. The sinuous curve of her body under the blankets echoed the ridgeline visible through the window behind her, but it was her face that drew him in. She looked relaxed—no line between her brows, no downward curve of displeasure to her mouth—indeed she was smiling a little in her sleep, her hands tucked up under her chin and her hair spread across the pillow in a flood of molten silver. She was beautiful in a way that made his chest constrict, and Zarkon reached over with a fingertip and pushed her bangs away, that he could see her more clearly, and tugged the blanket up a little more to cover her bare shoulder from the cold.

The movement was enough to wake her, though, and that was a whole new revelation to him. After the night before he thought he had perhaps seen everything, but watching Honerva wake was a sight Zarkon _knew_ he would trade anything in his Empire to see made sacred. It was a reckless thought, but the way she smiled at him when she finally opened her eyes made it feel _right_.

“Good morning,” Honerva said. Her face was half-hidden in the pillow, but her eyes glittered in the dim light. She reached over to touch his face, fingertips brushing along the edge of his ear, and Zarkon covered her hand with his, holding it in place against his cheek.

“Good morning.” His voice was rough, low, and Honerva’s eyelids flickered for a moment before she scooted over under the blankets and pressed in close. “Did you sleep well, my love?”

She hummed, her thumb describing an arc from the corner of his mouth to his cheekbone. “ _Very_ well. Better than I have in days.”

“Something troubles you?”

“Not right now it doesn’t. Nothing troubles me right now except the fact that eventually, we’ll have to get out of this bed.” She made to stretch up to kiss him but grimaced a little, shifting her hips in discomfort. He must have looked worried, because when she opened her eyes again, Honerva shook her head. “You didn’t hurt me. It’s just… been a while, and you’re… well. More than what I’m used to.”

“I’m s—“

“No, don’t apologize.” Though her face pinched a little as she did it, Honerva moved and sat up, bracing her arm on the other side of his head so she could lean in, pressing their foreheads together. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want or enjoy. Believe me, I would have told you.”

“Oh, I believe you.” Zarkon closed his eyes, breathing in the warm air between them, breathing in the scent of her and letting it soothe him. “And I must inform you that, as Emperor, I am free to clear my schedule and cancel my appointments and spend all day right here, with you. If you want.”

She raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little bit. “Emperor Zarkon, breaking rules and discipline and all routine just to spend a day in bed with an Altean alchemist? What _will_ the court say?”

Her tone had been joking but Zarkon got the sense that Honerva was more serious about the question than she let on. Something in the careful way she looked at him as he propped himself up on an elbow, reaching up to slide his hand around the back of her neck, gentle as he could be. “Not just an Altean alchemist, but the _greatest_ alchemist the universe has ever seen, and my future wife, and the woman I love most dearly of all. She is worth every broken rule, every whispered word, and more besides, and I… I am honored just to be in her presence.”

Honerva kissed him then, long and growing warm, then hot. When she pulled away she was breathless, but her movements as she swung a leg over his hips and settled her weight on top of him were sure. Last night she had moved above him with a strange and enthralling fluidity, her spirit too big for her body, and some of that lingered now. In the growing light of day, with her hair loose over her shoulders and her nails digging into his chest, Honerva fixed him in place with eyes turned a dark amber with desire, and even if he’d wanted to move, he doubted he could have.

At some point he finally called to his advisers and canceled the day’s appointments, only half-listening to the carefully-worded protests they put up; Honerva had come out of the bathing room wearing one of his sleep tunics, and explaining himself to people who didn’t care was not at the forefront of his mind. She grinned at him, settling her legs across his lap on the couch as he finished the call.

“Maybe it’s true, what they say about me. I’m a bad influence on you, making you shirk your duty.”

“Or perhaps it’s the other way round—after all, I’m pulling the genius behind the rift project away from her work because I simply can’t bear to be separated from her.”

Honerva flushed, but her touch was gentle, fingers warm against his cheek, his jaw. “We’re both perfectly awful,” she murmured. “And if we take the day together, at least we’re not tormenting others.”

When their late breakfast arrived, they ate it there on the couch instead of at the table. Honerva had expressed interest in learning more about the place she’d be calling home after marrying him, so Zarkon dug into the palace’s archives and played some of the programs on Daibazaal’s history, but also some theater, wanting to show her more of the culture of his people too. She’d gamely involved herself in the politics, to the extent that she wanted to do so, but Zarkon thought she deserved to know the other side of his home. But most pleasing of all was she watched it curled up in his lap, her head tucked in against his shoulder, and later on he looked down and happened to see she’d dozed off. Eventually, he joined her.

That night, Honerva lingered in her touches, her expression wistful. “I don’t want to go back to my own bed,” she murmured, resting her forehead against his chest. “I don’t want to wake up and not have you with me.”

“It’s only a few more movements.” But Zarkon knew the ache, had felt it since the sun had edged down toward the horizon. Now, having awoken with her, the thought that they might be separated even by the few steps from his door to hers was almost too much. He took Honerva’s face in his hands and tilted it up, pressing their foreheads together so they could breathe as one. “Time passes swiftly this side of Phebover, and there is still much for us to do.”

“I know, but...” She was quiet, looking for words, her fingers playing with the lapel of his sleep robe. “Before… this, before you, I was quite content to be alone. I had my work, I had my cat, and Alfor pulled me out of the lab when he felt I hadn’t seen the stars in too long, but the thought of needing someone else in my life didn’t register. But then I met you, and… and it all changed, and now the thought of sleeping alone makes me feel hollow when it didn’t before. I know you’ve broken with so much tradition and propriety for me already. I feel—“

He hurried to put a fingertip to her lips, stalling her words. “I told you this morning that you are more precious to me than anything you can pull out of that rift. For you, I would break _every_ tradition.”

She laughed, a small thing, but her fingers slid up to rest just along his collarbone. “That’s a lot of power to give me.”

“You already hold that power, so I am giving up nothing I had not already gifted you willingly.” Zarkon took her hands in his, covering them completely. “Go to sleep, _vorhai_. And if the night becomes too long and dark, I will be here.”

*

**D 10.1245.32  
** **T 1634.045 ALT**

A: Is it real? Could it be true? Emperor Zarkon, breaking with routine and duty for love of a woman?  
A: [img_gaspingbytor]  
Z: How did _you_ find out?  
A: A little bird told me.  
Z: Rest assured, I _will_ get to the bottom of this.  
Z: In any case, have you not been saying I need to loosen my grip on discipline?

**T 1642.074 ALT**

A: It’s only a jest, my friend. And unlike _some people_ , I’m not going to press for details.  
Z: Blaytz will be licking his bruised ego for days, I hope.  
A: At least.  
Z: When you have a moment, there is a matter I must speak with you about, however.  
A: Right now?  
Z: Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.

*

Alfor watched the crane lower the second ship into position beside its sister, maintaining tension on the webbing until the lion’s paws had settled on the decking. Behind him, he could hear the fabrication machinery whirring, bringing pieces into position to begin the third of five ships. This one would be approximately the same size as the first, though more heavily armored; a good chunk of the comet ore alloy had been dedicated to its design, the second most after what Alfor had come to think of as the keystone ship.

As the crane released the webbing and retracted it back inside itself, Alfor stepped up to the nearest paw, sliding his fingers along it. “I’ll be back to see you soon, my friend,” he said, and climbed out of the fabrication pit.

These days, the fab lab was the only place he had a moment of peace. From dawn to well after nightfall there were endless meetings, comm conferences, letters, petitions, grievances, and inquiries to address, and that _wasn’t_ counting the thousand other, smaller fires that couldn’t be put out by one of his advisers alone. He’d taken over a lot of the running of the kingdom as his father’s health had failed year over year, but somehow it all seemed to be so much _more_ now that he actually held the title as well.

It wasn’t just matters on Altea’s own worlds that kept him occupied, either. He’d awoken to a rather terse message from Honerva regarding scientists contacting him about her rift projects, and _Zarkon_ had said they needed to talk—the next item on his apparently endless agenda, managed down to the minute by Coran—and now the thought that two of his close friends were upset at him for being _concerned_ bounced around his mind like a child’s ball, threatening to drive him absolutely mad.

“What time is it on Daibazaal?” he asked as he got back to his office. It was a fine place, with a big open patio behind his desk that looked out over the gardens, but some days it still felt like a tiny prison cell. “Not too early, I hope?”

“No, Your Majesty. I’ll have Comms get a secure line to Emperor Zarkon immediately.”

Coran turned away, speaking as quietly as he was capable of into his comm. While he waited, Alfor turned around in his chair and looked out into the sunlight, watching the people out and about in the garden. Even from so far away, he could see Naia, out walking with her handmaiden. They were laughing about something, and seeing his wife smile, Alfor could not help but smile too.

“Your Majesty? We’ve got a secure line.”

“Right.” Alfor turned back around to face his desk and pulled up his holo screens. “Thank you, Coran, I’ll take it from here.”

His adviser flicked his fingers over the tablet he carried, and a moment later Zarkon appeared on the screen before him. “ _Greetings, Alfor,_ ” he said, sitting back in his chair. “ _I trust you are well?_ ”

“Well, and busy. You know how it is—everyone thinks all the answers come with the title.”

“ _I know_ _how that is_.”

“Well, I hope to one day be as blasé about that expectation as you are.” Alfor smiled, leaning back in his chair. “But it seems the day off has done wonders for you, my friend. You’re looking _relaxed_.”

Zarkon made a face, but his response belied how he really felt. “ _It’s improper to speak of it and disrespectful to my betrothed. In any case, if I tell you, the others will know as soon as I end this call, and that’ll be all it takes for Honerva to call the whole thing off._ ”

“Setting aside that she loves you too much to do such a thing, you wound me by saying I’d betray your confidence!”

Something in his friend’s expression shifted, became all business. “ _It is that which leads to my comm today,_ ” he said. “ _It’s come to my attention that one of the Galra scientists working on the rift project has been in contact with you regarding Honerva’s research_.”

“Hm? Oh….” Alfor reached up, quickly scrolling through his messages. “Marmora, yes? He did contact me, worried about some of her proposals. What of it?”

“ _He should not have contacted you. The rift is on Daibazaal, and as such is under my purview. He should have brought his concerns to me_.”

Alfor paused. Marmora had not only shared his concerns about Honerva’s relentlessness in her pursuit of knowledge of the rift, he’d said he wasn’t sure that Zarkon could be objective about it. He’d seen Alfor as an interested party, but one that was capable of taking a step back. “He should have, yes. But as Honerva and I are working on projects related to the rift, I do have more knowledge of the subject matter.”

Zarkon’s eyes seemed to harden. “ _Nevertheless, research done on Daibazaal belongs to us. You cannot, and should not interfere._ ”

“I was going to bring it to your attention, Zarkon. I didn’t think it worrisome enough to bother you with before your wedding, and frankly, I think Marmora is blowing the matter out of proportion. I trust Honerva’s judgment, as you do.”

After a moment, his friend nodded, drawing in a breath. “ _That is good to know._ ”

“However...” Alfor again chose his words carefully. “I do want to talk to her about this idea of hers, to send signals into the rift. I don’t think it’s a good idea, we don’t know what’s in there—if anything. And if it’s hostile… I fear the only things we have that might be able to defend against it are the ships I’m building, and they’re only half complete.”

“ _If you really do trust her judgment, why is this an issue?_ ”

“Because it’s got broader implications than just her research. If we bring something through that rift that wants to do harm—“

“ _Or it could want to give us aid—knowledge, power! Think of the possibilities, Alfor!_ ”

“I am. I _am_ , Zarkon, but I have to think of the possibilities that aren’t so rosy as well. Nothing is worth putting so many people at risk—I’d think you’d be worried about your own people being hurt in any calamity. The rift is on _your_ planet, after all.”

For a moment, Alfor thought his friend was actually going to lose his temper, and tensed up. He’d seen Zarkon mad before but never at him, and had never wanted to bring it down on himself either. Not just because Zarkon was one of his closest friends, but because the experience had been terrifying even as a bystander. No small part of him wanted to back down, but he gripped the arms of his chair and kept silent, and eventually Zarkon sighed, though he didn’t look quite happy with it.

“ _I do care for the well-being of my people, Alfor. Do not mistake my eagerness to see what this rift has in store for us for reckless disregard for safety._ ”

“Of course. I apologize if I gave that impression.” Alfor waited a beat. “I shall speak to Honerva about our plans for the rift project, moving forward. I wouldn’t want to put a wedge between the two of you, not so close to your wedding day. It’ll give me a chance to apologize to her, I imagine she feels like this has all gone on behind her back.”

“ _She does. She was quite hurt by it_.”

“Then I _do_ have to apologize. I trust you’ve already spoken to Marmora?”

“ _I have. He knows that he is to bring concerns to me first from now on._ ”

“Very well, it’s settled then.”

“ _There is… one more thing. Something I wanted to ask you face to face,_ _rather than via messages_ _._ ”

“What is it?”

“ _I would very much like it if you stood with me, on my wedding day. Before the ceremony, it’s a tradition the Galra have. One’s closest companion helps them prepare, stays by their side until it’s time for the Joining._ ”

“I’d be honored.”

Zarkon smiled, and all the tension of the call ebbed away from Alfor’s gut. His friend was not so upset with him after all. “ _Then it’s settled?_ ”

“Seeing as I’m partially responsible for this wedding happening at all, it’s the least I can do for you.” Alfor smiled too. “I look forward to it.”

“ _As do I. Until next time, my friend._ ”

“Until next time.”

The comm channel closed, the screen fading back into the sigil of his house. Alfor studied it as it blinked slowly in midair, eyes tracing the lines of the chevron that mirrored the glowing mark on his upper back, enclosed in a spiral of blue. A calling handed down through the generations from Allura herself, Altea’s first queen. A responsibility to his people.

Sighing, Alfor tapped his comm. “Coran?”

“ _Yes, Your Majesty?_ ”

“Could you get me a secure line to Honerva, please?”

*

Yawning, Honerva watched data scroll across her workstation’s holo screens. She knew she ought to be paying attention to this simulation, making notes on whether or not her ideas about energy output from the rift quintessence would have the practical applications she was hoping for, but her mind wandered—to Zarkon and their night together, to the coronation ceremony and the strange power she felt but could not explain, to the nightmares she’d had in her fitful sleep. She _hadn’t_ slept well alone; her heart knew what it was like to dream next to its other half now, and without it, without _him_ , she’d been up and down all night, and had finally kicked her blankets off and gotten ready for her day two _vargas_ before her usual alarm.

It had given her a chance to put down some of her ideas, though. The restless sleep meant her mind never really stopped working on the problems she set to it, and over her breakfast (she hadn’t asked for Zarkon to be woken up and had eaten alone with only her datapad for company) Honerva had tapped out a few ideas, things that had come to her in the small hours. Normally not ones she’d entertain, but…

The coronation ceremony had been something unexpected. Honerva had read about the effects on the hyperjump over from Daibazaal, but experiencing them firsthand had been another matter. Until then she’d scoffed at Naia’s insistence that some things couldn’t be explained through alchemy or science, that the world was full of things that defied rational bounds. Now… she’d _felt_ something at that ceremony, watching that altar pulse with pure light and energy. It had been quintessence of a sort that she hadn’t thought of or encountered before, except at the rift. It was a puzzle, and Honerva could not leave puzzles alone when she came across them.

But her mind was fuzzy, and she allowed herself to drift with her thoughts, her fingers idly stroking Kova where he lay in her lap. So it was that when her comm chimed and Alfor’s image popped up in a holo screen in front of her work, Honerva was so startled she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“King Alfor!”

At least Alfor had the grace to look sheepish. “ _I’m sorry, did I catch you at a bad moment? I can comm another time.”_

“No—no, now is fine.” Now that her brain was back in her body, Honerva remembered the irritation she’d been trying to tamp down with work. “What is it?”

“ _Just checking in on how things are going. I haven’t heard from you in a while._ ”

“I’ve been busy.” Honerva tapped a few keys and paused her work, lips pursed. “And I don’t need to be minded. I’m an expert in these matters, the only expert we have.”

“ _I know._ ” Alfor put up his hands, a gesture of peace. “ _I wanted to talk to you about your work_.”

“I’m not going to stop—“

“ _And I’m not going to suggest you do._ ” He sighed. “ _I wanted to apologize._ ”

That surprised her, and Honerva raised an eyebrow. “Apologize?”

“ _I should have spoken to you the moment that Marmora voiced concerns to me. Keeping it from you wasn’t my intent, nor was it my intent to make you feel like we were going behind your back._ _He was just worried that you were moving too quickly and not taking the proper precautions.”_

“He said you _shared_ his concerns.”

“ _I do, but only because I worry about you. You’re my friend, Honerva, and I don’t want to see harm come to you if I can do something to prevent it._ ”

The earnest way he said that gave her pause, gave her irritation (which had been building toward anger) a moment to cool. Alfor had only ever been a friend and supporter of her work, a sounding board and a valuable help when she’d felt stuck. He’d championed her to university officials and courtiers alike, and she’d _trusted_ him for years. “Right,” she murmured. “I know, King Alfor—“

“ _Really, Honerva, we’ll be social equals in a matter of movements, you_ must _get used to just calling me by my name._ ”

That made her smile, and like that the irritation in her heart broke. “I don’t think I’ll ever be used to it, but I promise to try. _After_ the wedding. And… and I promise that I will be careful, moving forward.”

“ _That’s all I ask_. _”_

“I’ll be coming back to Altea for a few days to see my family and have a fitting for my dress. I imagine you’ll want me to look over your ships again?”

“ _That would be excellent. Work proceeds apace, even as I’m bogged down in exactly what it means to be a king_.”

“I’m sure you’re doing fine. I’ll send you a message with my schedule?”

“ _Probably best, as I’m scheduled down to the minute at this point, but for you I’ll make courtiers and planetary potentates alike wait for an afternoon._ ”

“Provided I can get my mother to agree that I’m not ruining my own wedding by wanting to actually have a say in matters, we might even have a _full_ afternoon.” Honerva smiled more surely now. “Thank you for calling, King Alfor. I do feel better now.”

“ _I’m glad_. _And… I’m glad you and Zarkon have each other. You pushing him out of his comfort zone has been good for him, and he’s been good for you. I can tell by how happy you look._ ”

She flushed. “Is it that obvious?”

“ _Don’t be offended by this, but neither you nor he are particularly subtle people_.”

“That’s fair. Goodbye, my king.”

“ _Goodbye, Honerva. I’ll see you soon.”_

The window disappeared, and Honerva sighed, sitting back from the console as she ran her hands over her face. She’d nearly gone after _her king_ , her friend. Maybe she _was_ letting the stress of her work and her impending wedding get to her. It had been wrong to go behind her back like he had, though, and she did feel better for the apology.

But there was one thing she wanted to do herself, and so she set her console to analyze the latest round of data and went off through the facility in search of Marmora.

She found him, down in one of the labs. He’d taken an interest in the terraforming projects recently, and the room was full of huge leafy plants that she had to brush aside as she moved between benches and workstations.

“Marmora?”

“Back here.”

He was examining a set of seed trays under bright lights, making notes on his tablet as she approached. Honerva wasn’t terribly familiar with this project anymore—she’d gotten what information she wanted out of it and had moved on—but she knew enough to know that these seeds had been planted yesterday, and the sprouts were already beginning to poke out of the soil.

“These have come up quickly.”

“Faster than the others.” Marmora made a vague gesture at the plants in the rest of the room. “The solution was five percent rift quintessence this time, instead of two-point-five. It seems to be having quite an effect.”

He turned away from her, and Honerva let the silence stretch on for a moment longer. Then she sighed, squaring her shoulders. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior.” Marmora paused in his work, and she took it as a cue to go on. “It wasn’t appropriate as a scientist, or as a collaborator, or as a future member of your people. I’ve had many people in my past tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about, or that I’m being foolish, or that my goals are too big. I suppose you just… touched a nerve. I apologize for it.”

There was silence between them again, for a long time. Then Marmora turned back toward her, setting his tablet down on the small table beside the seed trays. “I had to endure the most humiliating dressing-down by my emperor that I have ever experienced,” he said quietly. “All for trying to warn him that his beloved might be going down a path she cannot return from.”

“I can’t speak for Zarkon. I can only speak for myself.” Honerva twisted her fingers together. “I—you’re one of the smartest scientists here, maybe anywhere in the Empire. I don’t want there to be bad blood between us.”

Marmora seemed to size her up. Whatever he saw, he must have found favorable. “Neither do I,” he replied, and extended a hand. “I accept your apology, Lady Honerva.”

“Don’t worry about the honorific. Not here, anyway, or at least not when Zarkon isn’t around.”

“If it’s all the same to you, my lady, I think I’ll keep it.” Marmora picked up his tablet again. “Was there anything else?”

“No. No, that’s it. Thank you.”

Her console had completed the analysis she’d set it to by the time she got back. Honerva was grateful for the simplicity of it, for the familiarity and ability with which she could delve into her data. It was so much less complicated than dealing with _people,_ so much easier than trying to integrate into a society that was polite to outsiders when they remained with their own kind, but less so when they wanted to marry their leaders.

*

**D 02.1246.06  
** **T 1023.401 ALT**

A: [img_dalterionbrowwiggle]  
Z: That’s a terrible joke, Alfor  
A: And yet somehow, I know you’re laughing.

**T 1103.056 ALT**

A: We’re making the final preparations to leave and should be there in your evening.  
Z: I will be glad for your presence, my friend. The last few days have been… stressful.  
A: I remember my own wedding, how that was  
Z: I think certain factions hoped that I would come to my senses before it happened  
A: There are always detractors.  
A: But you and Honerva have one of the strongest bonds I’ve ever seen. They’ll see it too.  
Z: I will make them if they do not.

*

Alfor woke to the sound of the wind howling. The times he’d been on Daibazaal between _Vor’helion_ and _Vor’morthi_ and the winds hadn’t been gale-force by sunrise had been unsettling ones. Hearing it now was almost comforting to him, familiar as the sensation of Naia’s arm tucked across his chest. He followed her marks with a hand, long and curving down her arm to her wrist, and felt her hum like fingertips tickling his skin.

“Good morning, my love,” she whispered in his ear, and Alfor turned to kiss her, his other hand burying itself into her hair.

“Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Very well. And I don’t feel ill this morning.”

“That’s good. It’s going to be a long day, but you take breaks if you need, do you understand?”

“Dear heart, we’re on one of the most advanced planets in the known universe. If I need something for my stomach, I’m certain there’s a doctor here who can supply me.”

“Yes, but—“

Naia took his face in her palms. “Women have been getting pregnant since the dawn of time, and doctors have been caring for them for almost half as long. Neither I nor our child is in any danger here.”

Her thumbs brushed his cheek marks, and Alfor closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation. His own hands went to her stomach, still flat. It was like a secret—one they’d keep for a while longer, after the traditional four months had passed, and when they wouldn’t be upstaging the wedding of two of his best friends. But here, in their bedroom, he could spread his fingers across his wife’s abdomen and wonder at the thought of being a father himself.

Eventually, Naia sat up and stretched, sliding away from him. “I need to go help Honerva get ready. She’s been with her mother for the last movement, and you know how they get along.”

“They don’t.”

“Exactly.” Alfor sighed, then got up as well, heading for the cases of his clothing. “I’d better go make sure Zarkon’s not terrorizing the palace staff. Seeing him court Honerva has been a crash course in emotions I’d never thought to see that man express, but _nervousness_ is still a rare one.”

Honerva and her family had been moved to quarters farther away, in the guest wing, rather than her suite upstairs. She’d been on Altea packing up the things she wanted moved to Daibazaal, finishing up with her dress, and comming him every five minutes insisting she was about to murder every one of her female relatives so that finally, _finally_ , her own opinion would be the one heard above the gaggle. Alfor had been understanding, gently encouraging, and had reminded her that if she committed atrocities against her own family she would not get to the wedding.

The suite of rooms given to them was a hive of activity when he and Naia walked in. Most of Honerva’s family members – her mother, Jocasta, and her sisters, Lithia and Oralva – were attended by stylists, their hair being done into elaborate coifs for the ceremony. Honerva was by herself next to the remains of their breakfast, thumbing through something on a datapad.

“You’re not working _now_ , are you?” Alfor asked as they approached. Honerva jumped, then stood when she realized who it was.

“No, no, of course not.” She embraced them both. “Just going over the ceremony again. I know I did last night, when we were rehearsing, but...”

“All the nunvill made it fall right out of your head?”

“What? No! I just, I woke up and I couldn’t remember what order things happened in, if we put our hands in the box before or after the Joining, or even what words I’m supposed to say, and I _know_ that we’ll be led through it but I wanted to have it in my head just in case, and I couldn’t _remember_ , and—“

“You’re rambling, dear.” Naia took her hand and led her back to her seat. “Why don’t you and I go over it one more time while you finish breakfast? You’ve barely touched your food.”

“I wasn’t hungry...”

“You’ll want to eat, trust me. It’s going to be a long day and you’ll need your energy. Alfor, _kahaiin,_ why don’t you go make sure Zarkon’s getting ready?”

He took the hint and left them, heading up to the imperial suite of rooms at the top of the palace. It wasn’t _as_ busy up here, but most of the Galra coming and going seemed subdued. When he got past them and into the antechamber where Zarkon was getting ready, he understood why.

“All right,” he said, speaking with authority. “Everyone else out of the room, please.”

The servants and advisers moved with alacrity, and after a few moments he and Zarkon were alone in the room. His friend had not yet put on his armor and stood silhouetted by the window, clad only in his black undersuit and his boots. Every line of muscle stood out in sharp, tense relief.

“I should have a conversation with my staff about obeying the orders of someone other than their Emperor.”

“Someone needed to give them a break from you.” Alfor came up beside Zarkon, leaning against the window. Zarkon didn’t look over, but he saw his shoulders drop a little from where they’d been high and tense. “Nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” Zarkon replied automatically, but he sighed. “This is possibly the most important thing I will do in my entire life, Alfor. What if I miss my words? I do not have Blaytz’ silver tongue. What if Honerva realizes she’s made a mistake?”

“You had the ritual words down perfect yesterday, when we ran through the ceremony.”

“Yes...”

“And do you think, after all of this, that Honerva doesn’t love you with all her heart?”

“I know she does, but...”

“But _nothing_. She loves you, and you love her. No matter what words are or aren’t said today, no matter what happens, that love is what binds the two of you together. Not any ritual or tattoo or piece of jewelry.”

Zarkon looked over. “You’re right, of course,” he said. “Have you seen her today? How is she?”

“Almost as nervous as you are, my friend.”

“I’m not nervous,” but Zarkon shook his head, putting his hand on Alfor’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“I’m honored to be with you. Now, let’s get you ready.”

The ceremony was scheduled to begin in the afternoon, but the hours before that were full of activity. Alfor helped Zarkon get into his armor, then Naia commed and asked him to bring something the servants had forgotten to pull from her clothing cases. When he brought it to the suite of rooms he was accosted by Honerva, still clad in her robe and demanding to know how Zarkon was doing and if he was ready. After reassuring _her_ , he returned to his friend’s suite to an immediate interrogation on Honerva’s preparations and how she looked and what she was doing.

“I _can’t_ tell you what she looks like, you know your own rules,” Alfor said, giving his own armor one last swipe of a cleaning cloth so it gleamed just so. “You don’t see her until the doors open at the ceremony.”

“And when is that?”

“In approximately an hour. You may want to go downstairs and start greeting guests, they’re currently enjoying the hospitality of your household while waiting for entrance into the grand hall.”

They arrived downstairs to thunderous applause from those who had already arrived. An imperial wedding was no small affair; all of Galra high command was in attendance, along with the heads of state from every allied planet and system that Alfor knew of. He and Zarkon took up a position at the base of the stairs, and as they did, Coran slid in just behind them to whisper the names and titles of those guests coming up to give their congratulations. Alfor knew _most_ of them, but it would have been an unforgivable slight to forget.

Naia came over not long after, slipping her arm through his. Her breath was warm and sweet on his throat when he turned to nuzzle her gently, and she smiled up at him when they leaned back.

“How is she?”

“Oh, you know Honerva, determined to be in control.” Naia tilted her head, eyeing Zarkon speculatively. “She looks stunning, of course.”

Zarkon pretended he hadn’t been listening, but Alfor caught the slight inhale of breath. “Of course she does,” he said softly.

A bell tolled from within the ceremony hall, and slowly the guests began filtering inside. Naia squeezed Alfor’s hand and left, presumably to check on Honerva one last time, and Alfor touched Zarkon’s elbow.

“We should probably take our places,” he said.

The antechamber was quiet, with a small table nearby that had a selection of beverages. Alfor poured them both some water; Zarkon was pacing as they listened to the beginning of the ceremony (an ancient litany and set of readings that he’d learned dated back to the very beginning of Galra civilization), and he thought that if he gave his friend anything more complicated than water, he’d get sick.

“Nervous?” he asked again. Zarkon drained his cup in one go.

“I’m not nervous.”

“It’s okay to be, you know. I certainly was.”

“I’m—“ Zarkon cut himself off when he saw Alfor’s face, one eyebrow raised skeptically, and sighed. “All right, I’m a _little_ nervous.”

“Just remember that you— _both_ of you—want this, more than anything.” A soft chime sounded in the antechamber and Alfor took his place beside Zarkon, just behind the doors. “That’s why you’re both here. It’ll be all right.”

The doors opened, and all the tension that had been riding in Zarkon’s shoulders the whole day melted away in an instant, because across the hall another set of doors had opened to reveal Honerva and her sister. Faintly he hoped that some of the many news drones captured the transformation of Zarkon’s expression the moment he saw Honerva, for it was earnest and softer than Alfor had ever seen it, and however many words he used to describe it later would not do it any justice.

In rehearsal Honerva and Zarkon and their respective attendants had walked, slow and stately, meeting in the center of the hall and walking to the officiants together, arm in arm, and certainly they started that way. But a few steps in and they were walking faster, outpacing Alfor and Lithia, and then they were running, and when they met Zarkon reached down and swept Honerva up into his arms, lifting her easily and spinning her around, and _oh_ , Alfor hoped all the beings watching across the known universe could see the joy on their faces. In that moment, neither of them cared how they looked to others; all that mattered was that they were finally getting married.

Alfor pretended to look embarrassed, and caught Naia’s eye where she sat. She was grinning, her fingertips pressed to her lips, her cheeks going a pretty pink when he winked at her. Being here, Alfor couldn’t help but think of their wedding, and how he’d been so enthralled by Naia in her dress that he’d barely been able to speak.

Zarkon set Honerva down again, and with both of them looking flushed, they made their way up to the officiant. He was a Galra of indeterminate age, his face half-obscured by the hood of his robe, but as Alfor took his place behind and to the side of Zarkon he could see the man was smiling. Not all Galra were as tight-laced as members of the court, and as the news drones shifted position to get the best possible views of the couple, Alfor heard the officiant quietly ask if he could skip the parts of the ceremony that determined if they truly wanted to be present and to wed each other, because he felt that display said all that needed to be said. Honerva’s face was almost the same color as her marks, and she leaned her head against Zarkon’s chest briefly (and lightly, so her hair and veil didn’t get mussed). Then they turned to face each other, and the ceremony began.

He’d been to the Kral Zera, the day that Zarkon bested his siblings and the other challengers and maintained his family’s hold on the throne, and had half-wondered what a wedding for the sitting emperor would be like if the coronation was as bloody as the Kral Zera. But it was definitely not, and Alfor quietly reprimanded himself for his own thoughts as the officiant began.

“From the beginning, when the first Galra awoke from their dreaming at the base of the Pillars of the Ancients, they knew that they were stronger together than they were apart. They formed families and tribes and eventually, a civilization, and though we have come through many periods of strife in the history of our people, we have always held to that belief: together, the Galra can accomplish much more than we can alone.

“What better way to show this than a bond as close as the one shared by life partners? Such a bond gives strength to both; it is sustenance and comfort in times of trial, and in times of peace it grows. Like the vine that is deep-rooted to withstand the winds, such a bond can endure the storms of life, and no death or darkness can overcome it.”

He put his hand on top of where Honerva’s and Zarkon’s were clasped between them. Alfor saw the hem of her veil tremble slightly, but she stilled, tilting her chin up. She wasn’t looking at the officiant; she was only looking at Zarkon, and he at her.

“I have known our Emperor since he was very young. I know him to be strong in battle, fair in leadership, and wise in justice, never rushing a decision when he could take a moment more to ensure it was correct. So when he announced his intention to marry Honerva, I knew that no matter what others may think of his choice, it was the right one. And in coming to know her, I became more sure of it. She too is wise, and strong, and she has dedicated her considerable talents as an alchemist to advance the Empire throughout our territories, and to understand the gift that has been given to Daibazaal in the form of the rift. She may not be of our people, but she has become one of us by her love. As with the ancient ones, she and our Emperor are stronger together than they are apart, and because of this, the Galra are stronger as well.”

He paused, and as though they knew what was coming, both Honerva and Zarkon took a breath. He murmured something to her, and she smiled, her thumbs rubbing across his knuckles. The officiant looked between them a moment before continuing, reading from an actual paper book.

“Zarkon, Emperor of the Galra, son of Melkaeon, have you come here today of your own free will, intending to enter into marriage with this woman?”

“I have.”

“And Honerva of Altea, daughter of Jocasta, have you come here today of your own free will, intending to enter into marriage with this man?”

Though she was nervous, Honerva’s voice rang loud and clear through the hall. “I have.”

“The winds blow hard, and often take words from our lips before they are heard. Is it truly your intention to wed each other? Make your answer known, so that all present may stand as witness.”

Three times in unison, Zarkon and Honerva spoke. “It is, it is, it is.”

“Now, make known your vows to each other. Do you, Honerva of Altea, offer yourself in marriage to Zarkon, Emperor of the Galra?”

“I, Honerva of Altea,” and Alfor listened to her voice quiver at first but then steady, ringing true with conviction, “Offer myself in marriage to you, Zarkon, in honesty and sincerity. I do swear to stand beside you faithfully, whether the winds blow for good or ill. I do swear to love, cherish, and honor you for as long as there is air in my body, until the stars take me.”

“I accept you as wife, Honerva.”

“And do you, Zarkon, offer yourself in marriage to Honerva of Altea?”

His friend’s voice carried to every corner of the hall, though it was soft and tender, his whole being focused on the woman before him. “I, Zarkon, offer myself in marriage to you, Honerva, in honesty and sincerity. I do swear to stand beside you faithfully, whether the winds blow for good or ill. I do swear to love, cherish, and honor you for as long as there is air in my body, until the stars take me.”

“I accept you as husband, Zarkon,” and from here Alfor could see them both smile broadly, their shoulders relaxing a little. Honerva’s hands, though they were tiny in comparison to Zarkon’s, tightened.

“Too often we are blown apart; whether by tradition, or distance, or our thoughts. When two are blown together, it is a rare and precious thing.”

The officiant gestured, and another Galra brought over a slender box, placing it on a table nearby.

“Let these two be joined in the presence of all, a physical reminder of their dedication to each other.”

Zarkon led Honerva over to the table, and together they slid their right hands, palms up, into the box. Alfor had been curious about this part of it; the Joining, Zarkon had said, dated back as far as the liturgy, and some historians argued that it went farther than written history. It was a mark—as the officiant had said, a physical reminder of the marriage—that was inscribed on the skin of the wrist. When both of their hands were inside, the box lit up with a violet glow.

“Like the Joining, relationships can be painful at times. A marriage does not always go smoothly, and sometimes the problems that it faces seem insurmountable. There is no harm in knowing one’s limits, but for those who can persevere through times of trial, those who can stand beside each other even in the deepest darkness when all conspires to push them apart in the storm, have a bond that cannot be broken, that can weather _all_ storms, that can withstand the test of time.”

Honerva’s left hand clenched, in pain, and Alfor saw Zarkon lean over, whispering something to her, some words of encouragement. Honerva nodded, her jaw set, and when the light clicked off, they withdrew their hands. The mark – their names entwined, contained inside a spiraling design – stood out fresh against Honerva’s warm tan skin.

“Now, having spoken your intent thrice before this assembly, with your oaths to each other spoken above the wind, and with your marriage indelibly marked on your skin through the Joining, let it be known that your union is blessed and recognized by all, and that you are known to us now as husband and wife.”

The musicians in the loft up above began playing the recessional as Honerva pulled her new husband down into a kiss. Not that she’d had to pull hard, for Zarkon had bent down willingly, cupping her face in hands that seemed the size of her entire head. But he was gentle, and when they pulled apart they lingered a moment there, their foreheads pressed together, before taking each other’s hands and making the long walk down the center aisle. Kova, who had been sitting in the front row of seats beside Honerva’s family, leaped down from his perch as they passed and trotted at Honerva’s side, tail up in the air like a standardbearer. Alfor offered his arm to Lithia, and they followed—at a bit of a slower pace so that the guests couldn’t all rush out and overwhelm Honerva and Zarkon, who had earned a few quiet minutes with each other right now.

When the doors of the hall closed briefly behind them, Alfor and Lithia – soon joined by Honerva’s family, Naia, and the rest of their friends – swept the newlyweds up in a round of hugs. Zarkon, surprisingly, returned most of them; Honerva had to keep dabbing at her eyes with a cloth that her father had handed over to her before he’d gone to shake Zarkon’s hand and tell him (“Just one more time, Emperor Zarkon,”) to take care of his daughter. Kova wound around everyone’s ankles, meowing loudly until Honerva carefully picked him up, stroking his fur as she leaned into Zarkon’s side.

“I am glad you stood with me, Alfor,” Zarkon said quietly as they all took their places outside the doors, waiting to greet guests. “It would not have been the same without my closest friend beside me.”

“The honor was all mine, friend.” Alfor put a hand on Zarkon’s shoulder, and Honerva set Kova down so she could loop an arm through her husband’s. Her fingers rubbed the inside of her right wrist briefly, but her smile was radiant when she looked up at Zarkon. Once again, he had that expression on his face, wholly focused on her.

“Are you ready, my love?” Honerva asked.

“With you, I can do anything.”

“Then let’s unleash the horde,” Alfor said. “Because there’s quite a party waiting for us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](teslatricity.tumblr.com)!


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